A Beautiful Taste
by drano
Summary: Through accident and because they can finally relate, Draco and Hermione begin to travel together after she has been cast out of the Trio. Begins roughly three months after HBP.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I suppose this requires a little bit of explanation. The story subscribes to the theory that Hermione was administrating love potions to Harry throughout HBP in order to "tweak" things and have him notice Ginny. Needless to say no one was happy to discover this, and Hermione has been on her own for the last couple/few months.

This is my first fan fic, and now I appreciate anyone who's ever tried to write anything like this, because it's the most bloody difficult thing I've ever done. But without further ado ...

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"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I would ask you the same thing," Hermione Granger said, her eyes wary and her wand clenched close at her side, "But I'm actually leaving, so I won't bother. But I would probably guess—"

"Why else would you be sneaking around here?" Draco Malfoy smirked, casually gesturing at the misty forest around them. "Actually, the only thing that I'm surprised about is that your two little pals aren't tagging along."

Hermione compressed her lips but said nothing as the familiar sensation of hurt stabbed its way through her chest. Trying to ignore the cruel glint in Malfoy's eyes, she slowly circled around him towards the path that led out.

Malfoy feigned remembrance, a slow smile coming to his face. "But I forgot, you three aren't on the best of terms, are you?"

"That's none of your business," Hermione bit out, unable to come up with anything better. She had almost completely circled around Malfoy by now, still expecting him to draw his wand at any second. But he made no move to validate her fears.

"But isn't it everyone's business?" Malfoy sneered at her as he sauntered a few paces, nonchalantly planting himself between her and the way out again. "I mean, the Golden Boy has to save the world, and he can hardly do that without his favorite little Mudblood."

Hermione barely noticed the derogative aimed at her, but she came up short as Malfoy cut her off again.

"Let me go."

"I can't do that," Malfoy gave his best impression of a helpless shrug, but the attempted gesture failed miserably, "I'm the bad guy, remember? And I'm not quite sure what you are anymore, but I'm willing to bet that I'm not supposed to let you go."

"Then try it," Hermione snarled. Stepping forward, she found her wand suspended just above Malfoy's nose before she realized what she was doing, "Have they made you a Death Eater yet?"

The momentary flash of surprise at her advance had already vanished from his face, and now he was regarding her calmly.

"Drop it," he said slowly enough that she knew he wasn't as calm as he wanted her to think, "Stop trying to play the bad girl. You're no good at it."

"I'm not trying to play anything," she growled, but lowered her wand and took a step back in appeasement, more for herself than for Malfoy.

"Oh, that is grand!" Malfoy laughed perhaps a little too loud, and she listened uneasily as it echoed eerily through the trees. "You couldn't lie to save your life, Granger. Except maybe to yourself, that is. Surely the magnificent muggle wonder, friend to the great and almighty Harry Potter, and head of her class wouldn't be so stupid? Do you think you fool anyone with your little act?"

"Is this what it takes?" Hermione asked, not bothering to hide an ounce of her fury. "There are no teachers here, Malfoy. No Dumbledore, no McGonagall, no Snape. There's not even your Slytherins here to stop you." She watched his face intently for any reaction, but even when she named their former headmaster Malfoy's face remained an impassive mask. The way he coldly regarded her made her uncomfortable, though this whole situation was doing that, and she ached for him to give her a reason to use her wand.

"I'm not the one pointing the wand," Malfoy observed, "And I don't have anything to say that I haven't already. You—all of you, are so stupid!" He burst out suddenly; his uncharacteristic and abrupt drop of his impenetrable facade startling her. His fist flashed out at nothing before he regained himself. Leaning forward and advancing on her slowly, he mimicked a woman's voice. "Granger? Why yes, I've heard of her. She's that little Mudblood at the head of her class." He dropped the voice. "What is it you have nightmares about? Not making head girl?"

He took another step forward, his eyes roving furiously over her in a way that made Hermione's skin crawl. Malfoy didn't stop walking forward until her outstretched wand was at his face again, and only then did he seem to realize how close they'd gotten. Hermione was held rooted to the spot, a spell ready on her tongue and her heart racing, but she didn't dare move.

"You're right," Malfoy murmured, his stare still restlessly traveling over her, "There's no Potter here, no Weasel. And that's the problem." He turned his head away slowly, not quick enough to hide the pained expression that crossed his face. "All of you asked for this, every last bit of it, and you don't even realize it. You can tell that to precious Potter, that is if he ever forgives you for hitting him up with that stuff. But you were never the brightest when it came to that sort of thing, were you Granger?"

At what point she had backed into a tree, she didn't know. But as she pressed her back against it, breaths coming in gasps, she watched Malfoy turn away reluctantly.

Something snapped inside and a fiery and defiant impulse rose in her. It wasn't just because of the rare expression of vulnerability she'd seen on Malfoy. A consuming rage against circumstance in general had been building inside her longer than she knew, and for once she saw that Malfoy wasn't so firmly planted on the side that he usually was.

"Wait! It doesn't have to be like this!" she called after him.

"I suppose that since you were leaving," Malfoy mused out loud as he ignored her, looking back the way she'd come, "You didn't happen to find what you were looking for."

"And how do you know that I didn't? How do you know I don't have it right now?" She snapped.

"You'd be more annoying, I suppose," Malfoy shrugged, looking back at her, "It wasn't as if it was a sure thing. Things like that don't just lie around unclaimed."

Hermione lips twisted, deciding that it was best not to argue the point, no matter how satisfying it might have been. Realizing how easily he'd derailed her from what she'd started on, she resolutely marched after him. Admittedly she watched the dubious ground for sinkholes and potential trip ups more than she was actually watching his wand hand, like she should've been.

"Malfoy, listen to me," she began when she felt she was close enough to adopt a sympathetic tone, "I know what happened on the Astronomy Tower."

"I imagine you do." Malfoy gave her an uninterested look. "And I'd really love to hear about it, but I've got better things to—"

"I know what happened," Hermione repeated firmly, "And I know what happened in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

Malfoy looked at her sharply, showing the first sign of emotion that belied what he really felt, Hermione thought. Plowing on ahead, she adjusted her tone, falling into the most unassuming matter-of-fact voice that she hoped he would listen to.

"You know how things are, you're not a killer and you don't have to be. Even Harry says that. It isn't too late. You've done nothing that can't be forgiven. If Snape hadn't—done what he did, everything might have turned out and—"

"Turned out?" he asked in disbelief. "Turned out? Don't you get it? This is exactly what I mean!"

"You could get away, hide somewhere. I could take you to the Order, or—"

"The Order?" He laughed mirthlessly. "They're nothing without Dumbledore. Do you think anyone can hide from the Dark Lord? Would they even listen to you after everything you've done?"

"But you know you have to try," she insisted stubbornly, "You must have thought about it. Maybe you could even help us."

"You—" Malfoy was shaking his head in ill suppressed anger, one hand strangely raising and lowering at his side, "—Are not helping yourself. Is this what my family and I amount to you? Huh? Some little cause that you can throw into until something else comes along? I'm not some poor little house elf that you can throw clothes at to make everything better. What's happened to SPEW lately anyway? Did you drop it when you first thought you could mess with Potter's abysmal love life?"

Her scowl deepened and she looked away, inciting a strange but humorless smile from him.

"Ha! Look at me!" He leaned in close enough that his warm breath touched the edges of her numb cheeks. His expression made as if he was explaining something to a child, throwing exaggerated emphasis on each word. "I do not need—and I do not want your help. You can keep your stupid little ideas and keep pretending you're oh so smart with all the friends you don't have—"

"He'll kill you!" Hermione screamed. "He doesn't care about you or your family! He won't care when you mess up—"

"Aye, the little Mudblood speaks the truth."

They both whirled at the new voice behind them.

Hermione watched in shock as a short and greasy man walked towards them with his wand out, his gnarled face twisting his misshapen features into a grin.

"We're all marked for the Dark Lord's ill temper," the man recited almost pleasantly, his extended arm uncovered, almost flaunting the dark mark, "The best we can do is enjoy the little surprises that come our way in the meantime."

"What are you doing here, Leach?" Malfoy demanded icily.

"Come to check on you, little Malfoy," Leach smiled, flashing a brazen mouth in unfortunate condition, "It's been taking a little longer than you promised. Who's the bitch?"

"No one."

"That's just how I like them—" the way he suddenly twisted his face was the only warning, "Stupefy!"

But Hermione had already whirled around the tree, sending off a stunning spell of her own, though it was too random to have any chance of actually hitting Leach. As spells flew by her, she ducked under the branches reaching down for her, making sure to always keep something behind her for cover.

She suddenly stumbled and fell forward on some underbrush that took hold of her ankle. Squealing as her exposed skin was assaulted by the tangle of cruel branches, her outstretched hands weren't quick enough to keep her out of the pit of mud beneath her. She could feel heavy clods of muck clinging at her hair and the sleeves of her cloak as she struggled in it. Before she could get away, she felt the freezing cold liquid of the mire run down the length of her cloak, making it sag heavy with the filth. Hysterically pushing herself out of the muddy water, she realized that she had lost her wand, but that thought lost precedence in her mind as she tried to get around the nearest tree.

She felt every distinct nuance of the spell that hit her from behind, sending her back to the ground and into the mud, her bare hands getting cut on the twisted branches underneath. Her feet had painfully locked themselves tight together. She twisted around, automatically starting a futile spell, any spell, despite that she had no wand.

"Silencio!" Leach was even closer than she had thought, leaping over the underbrush after her with a grace seemingly unfit for such an uncouth body, his wand delicately leveled down at her. "Huh. She already lost her wand. Saves a bit o' trouble."

She struggled uselessly at the magic pinning her feet together, her cries likewise vain against the blanket of silence covering her. Desperately she crawled backwards away from him, frantically pulling against the branches that had caught her cloak. One sleeve was torn to her elbow, and she felt the slash burn as the muck touched her blood. She was whimpering now. She couldn't hear it but she could feel it.

"Didn't put up much of a fight, even for a Mudblood." Leach murmured, almost taking his time in walking towards her, allowing her room to madly scramble away.

Her shoulders were growing tired from pulling her whole body and her elbows stung harshly from digging them into the ground behind her.

"She isn't much without her friends," she heard Malfoy reply emotionlessly. She turned towards him to see that he was slowly stooping over to retrieve her wand.

Leach didn't answer Malfoy as he slowly gained on her, his eyes revealing that he was weighing something in his mind.

"She's quite a sight," Leach purred, "With all that mud in her hair. Funny hair at that, don't you think?"

Malfoy gave no answer.

"Have you ever had a Mudblood, Malfoy?"

"Let's go, Leach," Malfoy called numbly as though he was far away, refusing to look at Hermione at all, "We've done enough. She's going to have a hell of a time getting out of here."

"Mind yourself, little Malfoy," Leach didn't bother to advert his hungry gaze from her, but his threatening tone was all too clear, "There won't be too much of a surprise left for you, but we all must take what we can get. Oh yes, we must."

Hermione desperately looked over at Malfoy, but he was turned halfway in another direction and had both wands in hand as if he was going to leave. She tried to yell, scream, plead at him. Hoping against everything she had known for the last six years that he would turn back towards her. But no words would come out of her mouth, and Malfoy didn't see her frantic attempts. Hot tears were streaming down her face, mixing with the grime as she struggled through the underbrush, her chest heaving with inaudible gasps that spasmodically clenched painfully at her chest.

With a sense of finality, Leach's foot found the bottom of her cloak, pulling her back down into the mud. Her legs futilely pulled back to kick his leg, but her attempt was too weak with them bound. Groping behind her head, her hand closed upon a solid branch, and she swung it around.

Barely catching it in time, Leach grunted out a chuckle.

"This one's a lively one, I'll give her that. There might still be something worthwhile left for you. But I like my desert cold," Leach half fell on her, one arm pinning her hand with the stick to the ground as he aimed his wand at her face, "Crucio!"

Her free hand that she had been lunging at him halted in front of the face leering down at her as the terrible word pressed down into her. The image froze in her mind as everything else ceased to exist. Merciless pain ran through her, beginning everywhere and ending nowhere. Every nerve in her body exploded in a furious wave of agony. She lost track of everything else, her body writhing on its own as her mind screamed what her mouth couldn't.

She wanted to die. She pleaded mutely to die, to make it stop. She would've done anything in that moment just to die.

Gasping as a blinding light flashed behind her clenched eyelids, the pain receded suddenly. Like a blown out flame against flesh the pain died away, leaving only the fading sensations and her trembling body.

He was on her; the filthy man was on top of her, his body suffocating her. Thrashing wildly beneath him, she realized with horror that the spell was no longer binding her, and her legs were no longer clenched together as they had been.

She screamed so shrilly that it hurt her ears and her throat burned. Her fingers hysterically clawed up at him, her effort pushing her farther down into the mud as she madly struggled to free herself.

Shouting, everyone was shouting at once. Hands were grabbing her shoulders, pulling at her clothes. The terrible face was glaring down at her, eyes frozen and his face contorted in an unnatural manner.

Spinning, the ground she lay upon was spinning. Someone was still shouting, the face was still leering, and the world fell into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione woke once, finding that she had kicked the covers off. While pulling them back onto the bed, the last bits of the dream she'd had faded. She knew it had something to do with being late to their first flying lesson, back when she had been a first year.

But at that point she was too tired to care, and after rearranging herself, she quickly found her thoughts coming randomly and not making any sense. Somewhere in that time she acknowledged that she was falling back asleep, but she promptly forgot about that.

_Someone was on top of her, a cold hand gripping her shoulder and the other pointing a wand at her face. For a moment she thought it was someone named Leach. The name came naturally to her. But then, even though the face was not visible through the haze, she somehow suddenly knew that it was Harry. _

_"No!" she was screaming, wailing at him, wanting to get away somehow, any way. But his grip was too strong and her struggles were futile._

_He was saying something. At first she couldn't comprehend it, but he repeated it over and over again as he looked down at her impassively, showing no reaction to her resistance._

_"It's the same thing. It's the same thing. It's the same thing." _

_"No! No, it's not!" she pounded on him, moaning at his stare but unable to look away._

_"It's the same thing … it's the same thing."_

_"No, that's not true!"_

_"Crucio!"_

Despite the accompanying jolt, she woke slowly, pieces of her memory coming in fragments. She was jerked out of the deepest reaches of sleep by the horrifying thought that Harry had just cast the torture curse on her. Even though she had awoken in the safety of knowing that it had just been a dream, she clung to what remained of her sleep. She was afraid that she would wake to something worse than what she had left. By the time she found herself staring up at the dark ceiling, she recalled enough of what had happened that she laid still for several minutes, not daring to move. More than once, harmless sounds preyed upon her fear, but at last her eyes adjusted enough that she could tell she was alone.

She lay covered in an elegant four-poster bed, though she had to guess at the exact details because of the darkness. From what she could see, the rest of the room was fairly small but well furnished. Sitting up slowly, she checked over every detail from the relative safety that the middle of the bed provided. Minus the cold sweat she was drenched in, everything seemed to be fine. Had it all been a dream?

That might have been a soothing explanation, but the fact remained that she had no idea where she was. Try as she might, Hermione couldn't recall ever waking in such a room, or falling asleep there for that matter. She wasn't new to this feeling on account of the last few months, but she had always been able to eventually remember how she had gotten there.

Pulling aside the covers and swinging her feet onto the floor, she winced at the intricate pains that burst out up her legs and back. She found herself in a simple and inclusive night robe, and she frowned at it. Slowly, after waiting a long handful of heartbeats, she thoroughly examined herself with dread. With much relief, she found only the tender sources of her aches, though her confusion deepened.

Cradling her head in her hands, she slowly massaged her temples, fighting to distinguish what had actually happened.

She felt horrible. She had a horrible taste of shame. But what did she have to be ashamed of? Surely the man had only been a nightmare.

She let out a sob when she knew that it couldn't have all been a dream. The images, though distorted and unclear, held too many precise details and lurid emotions. Still vivid in her mind was the sense of horrible finality at the moment she'd found the curse binding her legs undone.

She had met Malfoy in the forest. They'd talked but then another man … Leach was his name, had come. And then …

Drawing in a shaky breath, she determinedly wiped at her eyes. There was no sense in tearing herself apart over what wasn't certain. Still, though, she couldn't help the dirty feeling on her skin and the thought that she was only fooling herself, putting off the truth for just a little while. But it was a little while she needed.

Finally, after a minute's more hesitation, she stood and opened the bedroom's only door.

A huge foyer of stone stretched out beyond. Its exact dimensions were lost in the darkness, though at the far left end she caught hints of a massive stairway that rose upwards into the shadows. There were other doors, presumably leading to rooms similar to the one she had just left. The only source of light was at the far right end, where a large fireplace hosted a healthy blaze that sent the long shadows flickering. Arranged in loose form were a handful of plush, high-backed chairs atop a thick rug.

Carefully moving sideways, Hermione thought she caught a glimpse of an arm resting on one of the chairs facing the fireplace. Pulling her night robe tighter and realizing just how chilly it was, she padded across the cold stone floor on her bare feet. As she drew closer, the arm became unmistakable, and she saw that the top of a blond head was leaning against it. She tentatively stopped when she came close enough, surprised to find that Malfoy was asleep, his face passive and his head supported by his fist and the back of the chair.

She stood for some time, battling over whether she should wake him while she furiously struggled to recall and order the remains of her memory. Finding him here hardly made things much clearer. But at last her uncertainty won out, and she turned to the fire, somehow her decision drawing her to it.

It was a marvelous thing, really. The flame fed upon a neat order of fuel, neither growing nor waning as time passed. Despite being quite boisterous in its volume, it was somehow tranquil. Hermione felt all the disparaging thoughts choking at the corners of her mind, some that she had only barely realized, slip slowly away. The longer she stared at it, the lighter her mind grew, until the light faded and grew with each heartbeat.

"Funny thing isn't it?"

The voice startled her so badly that she jumped, and she turned her stiff neck back to Malfoy. He hadn't moved an inch, but his eyes were open and staring languidly into the flames.

"It's called a Soothing Fire," he continued, not bothering to look at her, "It's supposed to take your worries away. But honestly, it gives me a headache."

Hermione refrained from nodding, finding that her neck and shoulders were tight and her back and legs ached. She could have sworn that she had only been there for a few moments, but somehow she knew that she'd been standing for hours. Working her way over to the nearest chair, she eased herself down into it, wincing at her throbbing feet as blood worked its way back into them.

She turned to see that Malfoy was watching her, though otherwise he still hadn't moved.

As she sat there, the pain in her tired muscles subsiding to a dull ache, another pain began to grow in her chest. For a moment she didn't think anything of it; it certainly was less than the pain in her feet. But it got worse, not spreading but intensifying in the same spot. It was as if someone was slowly closing a fist around her, and she grew frightened with each moment that it continued. She found herself on her feet again, the other aches of her body now distant as she clutched at the center of her chest. For several heartbeats it hit levels that she couldn't stand. But there was nothing she could do. Her breath was caught, her voice mute and her body trembling, but she could not move. Then slowly, long before she could notice, it abated, as if the fist was reluctantly opening. Even after it returned to normal, she stood there for another minute, catching her breath.

When she sat back down, she found that Malfoy was still staring at her, a slight frown discernable at the edges of his countenance. But when she flashed him the best cheeky smile she could force, he turned back to regarding the fire.

"I've heard of them," Hermione said after several minutes, when the silence had become unbearable, "Soothing Fires I mean."

"You've probably read about them," Malfoy replied, the words absent of the sneer and tone that she would have expected, "What do you see when you look at it?"

Looking back at the fire and rubbing at her chest when he wasn't looking, she frowned. "I … see the fire..."

"That's not what I meant," Malfoy rolled his head around to the other side of his shoulders, his voice sounding as though it didn't have the energy to be annoyed, "What are your sorrows?"

Pursing her lips and refraining from retorting that it was none of his business, she saw a clever way to fish for information.

"That depends, I'm having trouble remembering what happened last—night, if it was."

"Oh, are you worried about that?" he asked, as though it was an offhand topic no more important than what he'd had for breakfast.

"Yes," she surged to her feet, blistering indignation flushing her face, "I do happen to be worried about _that._"

"Well don't," he said simply, still showing no traces of emotion, "Nothing happened that you need to be ashamed of."

"But what did exactly happen?" she asked, careful not to take too much hope from his vagueness and realizing that somewhere her clever line of questioning had become somewhat blunt.

"If you don't mind, I really don't want to talk about it."

"Well _I really do_ want to talk about _it_." She said, irritation mounting on top of her anger.

"Leach didn't get what he wanted," he turned to her, his expression slightly sullen but otherwise featureless, "Is that good enough or do I have to spell it out for you?"

"What happened, Malfoy?" she asked, closing her eyes against the images that the name conjured in her mind.

"Leach missed his chance to fuck a Mudblood."

"What happened, Malfoy?" she repeated, shouting as if it would give her a better answer.

"I killed him!" Malfoy shouted back at her as he turned in his seat, the rage in his voice barely touching his face. "Okay? Is that close enough to a definition for you? Does that explain everything thoroughly enough for you or should I go write a book? It's no wonder you don't have any friends, you're always pretending to be so smart but you're not! You have no idea when to shut up! You're just a stupid little suck up, why would Harry want you around anyway? I'm surprised that you lasted as long as you did!"

Hermione's mouth had frozen, her question why he had done what he had forgotten. She watched in horror as his face slowly fell into a cruel glee with each word.

_He really hates me. _The thought pounded into her mind, so sudden and unexpected that she could think of nothing else. For as long as she could remember she had thought that Malfoy hated her. She'd always known that. And maybe he had, but never before had it been so obvious, and she'd never really realized it until now. Never really felt it. And somehow, that thought hurt more than everything he'd said.

Hermione started to cry.

Malfoy continued to glare at her as slow, cool tears ran down her burning cheeks. He watched her as she fought it, until she sucked in a shaky breath, unable to hold it back any longer. Deep sobs racked her and she gasped each time her chest clenched, almost painfully. And she couldn't stop. She turned back to the fire, hoping that she could find solace there.

And she did. Slowly she felt herself come back under control. Wiping at her nose, she sat down, realizing again how tired she was.

"What do you see?"

She found Malfoy staring into the fire again, a stormy expression now set into his face.

Knowing what he was asking this time, she turned back to regard the flames, still seeing nothing. But she answered truthfully.

"Harry and Ron, they're finding—they're traveling together."

"Why is that bad?" Draco mumbled after a long pause, so softly that Hermione thought she had imagined it at first.

She blinked the last of her tears from her eyes as she stared into the warmth.

"They need me," she whispered.

Her voice faltered, and she wondered if that was really the truth.

Malfoy glanced over at her for a moment. His expression did not change as he turned back to the fire.

"Yes," he murmured, "I suppose they do."


	3. Chapter 3

She woke late, the house elves helping her to dress. Normally she would have begrudged using them like that, especially since they were Malfoy's, but she was so stiff and tired she couldn't help but warmly welcome their assistance.

Malfoy Manor looked much different in the light. The foyer she'd walked through the night before was a palace all to its own, cast in obsidian. She hadn't even noticed how many massive pillars were spread out across the hall. Despite the awning windows that let in the bright morning sunlight, it still didn't feel warmer to her.

A house elf led her down through the sprawling hallways to a relatively smaller dining room elegantly set for lunch. Malfoy was already there, and he gave her a half-hearted smirk at the sight of her being led by the hand of a house elf. And though he didn't say anything as she sat down, there was little doubt that he noticed how out of place she felt. She saw him shake his head at one point due to her awkwardness, but he remained distant.

She hadn't realized just how hungry she'd been. The food consisted of dainty arrangements of sandwiches, but that didn't slow her down. When she had mostly satisfied herself, she looked up, expecting to find him watching her. Instead, he was gazing off to the side, one hand idly thumbing his food.

"I don't mean to be rude," she started hesitantly, unable to take the silence any longer, "This is your manor, correct?" She continued when he nodded. "But it doesn't seem like the best idea to wait around here after—what's happened, does it?"

"What 'happened' probably wasn't the best idea either," he countered easily, hardly bothering to look at her.

"But won't they be looking for you?" She persisted, frustrated at how easily he had sidestepped the question.

"Of course they will," Malfoy lazily rubbed at a spot on the table, "Even though it's painfully obvious, I imagine they'll think to show up here fairly soon."

"And?" She raised her eyebrows, but he didn't catch it as he was still staring sullenly down at his food.

"You don't have to worry your pretty little head about that. You'll be a long ways away from here by then," he leaned back in his chair, pushing the rest of his food away, "It would be best if you left now."

"Are you just going to wait for them?" she asked, her stomach sinking at the thought.

"It's none of your concern what I do," Malfoy said coldly.

"Of course it is!" Hermione had blurted the words before she thought to hold them. "I mean—after what you did? We got away didn't we? You can't do something stupid now."

"Granger," Malfoy said slowly, "As much fun as it has been, none of this should have ever happened. Now the best thing—the only thing you are going to do now—is go away. I'll have a house elf show you where you can leave and apparate."

"Malfoy, listen to me," Hermione was on her feet again, leaning forward onto the table and doing her best to catch his eye, "You said last night that there was nothing for me to be ashamed about. And it's the same for you—"

"Oh, would you drop it already," he rolled his head back in exasperation.

"No! It's the same for you, Malfoy. If you think that what happened to Dumbledore was your fault, it isn't. It's the same—"

"What are you talking about?" Malfoy looked disbelievingly at her, "This has nothing to do with that."

"And it's the same thing here," Hermione insisted, wishing her face wasn't so hot, "There was nothing else you could have done—"

"Nothing?" Malfoy leapt to his feet. "The only thing in common those two _things_ have is that they're probably going to get me killed! As soon as Leach showed up I should've walked away, or laughed, or maybe even helped the right side for a change! What does it matter what happens to a filthy Mudblood anyway? I should've never done that. Ever."

_But he did. He did. _Hermione clenched her eyes shut as she fought back her reflexive anger and the wrenching of her stomach, desperately repeating that fact over and over to herself.

"Where are you going now, Malfoy?" she asked instead, having to shout, as he was still raging. "Malfoy! Where are you going?"

"Just go away!"

"Why do you always have to shout?" she screamed back at him.

"Just get out, Granger! Go now!"

"NO!"

For a long second they both froze, and she dimly wondered which of them was more surprised by her vehemence. She watched his mouth fumble for words, and she realized that she had left him speechless for one of the few times she could remember.

"Why?" he finally asked her weakly, as though he had wanted to say something else.

She could have answered any number of ways, truthful or not. She all but expected herself to say that she owed him, and that much was true. But that wasn't the real reason.

"Because I have nowhere else to go."

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After concluding breakfast—or perhaps lunch, she still wasn't quite sure—in a much quieter way, Draco promptly fell back into his brooding silence. He then walked through what seemed like half the manor, and she knew without asking that she should follow. He may have been surprised that she did this, but eventually he came to two massive doors. Swinging them open, he wordlessly gestured inside.

Warily circling around him, the contents of the room came into view and she couldn't help but catch her breath. Even from where she stood she could easily make out a gaping stretch of the room, crammed with shelves that were brimming with books.

Realizing that he was looking back at her, she steadily held his gaze and carefully walked by him through the doors. His expression was neutral enough that she had to guess, but she thought she caught a trace of smugness.

She moved slowly to the center of the room, spinning around and taking in every detail she could. She was impressed despite herself, and she felt a burning desire just to look over the seemingly endless lines of titles to see what was there that she hadn't seen before.

As an afterthought she glanced back to find that Malfoy had already gone, and she had a fleeting pang of disappointment. It was foolish though for her to assume that he had any interest in a library he'd had in his house his entire life. It was obvious that he was merely distracting her. There was scarce else to do at the manor. Their discourse so far had been many things, but entertaining was hardly one of them.

For a long time she wandered, one finger trailing along the rows as she examined each book in turn. They were rigidly sorted and many were probably there for appearances more than for the actual material. But she found herself quickly accumulating a considerable armload as she grabbed any that happened to strike her fancy. About halfway through the first clump of rows on the bottom level she gave up and retraced her steps, weeding out the titles that didn't sound as interesting at second glance. She carefully brought them back to their original places, though she gave serious consideration to mixing them up on a childish impulse. She might have just for kicks, but she knew Malfoy wouldn't care. For all she knew it could be decades before anyone would notice.

Once she had mostly satisfied herself for the moment, she made her way back to one of the chairs arranged near the entrance. The chairs themselves turned out to be exceptionally comfortable, and that caused Hermione to wonder just how much the Malfoys actually used this library. It seemed stupid to her that one family could have so many books that they could never possibly read.

And then she settled in, skimming each of the volumes she had selected before settling on one text in particular that recounted alternate views on important historical events.

She didn't need to get very far along to know that she missed this terribly. It had been far too long since she had the time or reason to sit down and just read or relax, much less both at the same time. She had taken it for granted that she would return to Hogwarts this year. Under different circumstances, she might have found herself sitting in a different common room, struggling to ignore the loud but cheerful conversation around them as she helped Harry and Ron struggle through their homework.

Shaking her head, she pushed those bittersweet thoughts from her mind. She needed no extra incentive, but nevertheless she dove into her new book with a passion.

Hours stretched by. She had no way of marking time, apart from how the sunlight streaming in through the library's broad windows moved across the floor.

The books she alternated through did not disappoint, and she found herself finding no room or desire for other thoughts.

Except Malfoy.

She didn't know how many times he passed before she noticed, but soon she started to watch for his irregular passings. After the second time she caught a glimpse of him, she grudgingly extracted herself, rose and opened the doors as wide as they would go.

As though in a trance Malfoy wandered the halls. Only once when he passed did he spare the slightest glance at her, as though merely to confirm she was still there. It was haunting to see him like that. Hermione found her thoughts following whenever she noticed him, and she had to repeatedly struggle to bring her mind back to what she had been reading.

Whether it was curiosity or the restless feeling as evening drew closer, she eventually closed her book forcibly. After stretching indolently and rubbing at her sore eyes, she sorted out a neat pile of books and sat back to wait.

When Malfoy finally came again, still no apparent timing in his passing but inevitable all the same, she watched for any sign of recognition that he was passing the library. What she thought she saw was fleeting and he quickly passed back out of sight. She rose uncertainly to her feet, looking around her again. Reluctantly she left, examining Malfoy's retreating gait to see if it changed at all when he wasn't visible to her. But faithfully he showed no change, even as he aimlessly wandered around a corner.

Biting her lip, she jogged after him as quietly as she could until they were side by side. He made no effort to acknowledge her, still staring off at the ceiling as he walked. But after a moment he spoke, more to her than himself.

"I sent the house elves away."

"What?" she asked, startled out of her own considerations. "Why?"

"They would've been a liability once our friends show up." Draco's gaze fell down to the floor. "They can't know when we leave or where we're going."

"So we are leaving together?" Hermione pressed.

"Unless you've changed your mind." He murmured, his tone indicating he didn't care either way.

"You could've left already," Hermione pointed out, fishing for some kind of response. This listless version of Malfoy was starting to bother her. "You could sneak away without me. It wouldn't be hard. Why haven't you?"

"I don't know." Draco shrugged. "I've been thinking … about everything. The idea has occurred to me."

Hermione waited for a long moment, looking off to the side. "And?"

"And I just said I don't know." Malfoy said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner was the exact opposite of what breakfast had been like. Draco swore he regretted sending the house elves away at least once for every minute it took him to prepare a rather meager supper. But Hermione didn't mind. Instead of eating in one of the many drawing rooms, Malfoy set up a table in front of the foyer's fireplace. The fire cheerfully lit their meal as it grew darker outside.

And they talked. Hermione had doubted that she could ever hold anything bearing semblance to a friendly conversation with Draco Malfoy involved. But there he was, sitting across from her and encouraging it. No, he was practically forcing it. He maintained a thin smile and even refrained from all but the most tempting remarks.

Throughout the meal Hermione wasn't quite sure what to make of this abrupt and vaguely disturbing change in him. At first she only numbly acknowledged his attempts, unconsciously keeping to one-word answers. But he continued to press his sense of amiability, though she could tell he was getting more than a little amusement from her surprise over the change.

His bait that proved to be her foil was another missive complaint about the house elves, suitably phrased to ensure more participation in the conversation on her part. But even at the subject's worst he remained pleasant about it, something that she doubted he usually would've.

The prickling at the back of her neck and the uneasiness that came at Malfoy's forced smile was slowly laid to rest as nothing happen. He didn't suddenly snap at her increasingly careless words, and he didn't pull out his wand when she had her head turned. Malfoy had gone from being unrepentantly dour to something resembling an accommodating host. Perhaps it was just his manners kicking in; she wouldn't know anything about those.

And she enjoyed it. That realization came much more slowly than her other minor epiphanies of the day. The thought of a conversation like this with Draco Malfoy would have made her cringe before, but now she was finding that she grossly exaggerated to herself how horrible it would be. Forced manners or not, she couldn't bring herself to refuse his company.

She felt she at least owed him that much.

"What?" Malfoy feigned sputtering on whatever it was he was drinking. "Did I just hear the great Granger admit that she's 'not that smart?'"

As much as she was suddenly preoccupied by the uncomfortable territory the conversation had crossed into, Hermione had the distinct notion that Malfoy had used his comment in more than one way. Distractingly agreeable conversation or not, she had more than noticed his valiant efforts to cover up the fact that he'd barely eaten anything.

"I … didn't say that." Hermione said cautiously, trying to recall exactly what it was she had said.

"More or less," Malfoy leaned forward, giving her the impression that he was mimicking her. "But it couldn't ever be so. Does Granger, deep down inside, not consider herself …" he let out a staged gasp, "Smart?"

She laughed in spite of herself, which put Malfoy back in his seat and drew the first hint of an unpleasant expression he'd had all night.

"Oh, come on," she managed between laughing and around her inconvenient mouthful of food, "Everyone knows that."

"Everyone knows what?" Malfoy asked, his voice suddenly low.

Hermione frowned, taking time to swallow her food before continuing. After all, what did it matter now? "Everyone" was no doubt an overstatement, but surely it wasn't the secret that Malfoy made it sound like. And what did it really matter? He was Draco Malfoy, who wouldn't care anyway, and their last year at Hogwarts wasn't likely to ever happen.

The idea of telling him now wasn't unpleasant at all. In fact it actually felt sort of exciting. She wondered just to what depths she'd sunk that she would get a thrill with sharing anything with Draco Malfoy. But somehow the implications that he thought she was smart made her happy.

"That I'm not that smart." She replied, unable to keep a goofy smile off her face. Patheticism defined indeed.

Malfoy laughed in disbelief, as though he didn't trust himself to speak immediately.

"It's true," she insisted, feeling the unexplainable urge to convince him.

"That's not funny," Draco was shaking his head now, "Miss Know-It-All isn't that smart? Funny, that wasn't always the impression I got from … oh yeah. I got it from you. Maybe it was all those perfect grades, or the professors fawning over you, or maybe the fact that you were the all but designated Head Girl since the minute you set foot in the school. But you know what? I think it was all those insults to my intelligence that made me think you considered yourself … well, correct me if I'm wrong."

"I didn't say I was stupid," Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring the slight wilt in politeness from the opposite end of the table, "I just said I wasn't the smartest."

"Wait, we are talking about you, right?" Malfoy inquired. "Humor me, then. Where did you get this crazy—and I mean crazy—notion? Sorry, it just seems kind of new to me, putting up with it for six years and all."

"Malfoy," she began patiently, surprised at her lack of resentment. Why was she even telling him this? "The reason I got all those good grades is because I worked for them. I _studied _for them. There were lots of others that barely ever bothered to study. What if I hadn't studied so hard? Does studying for some test I can't even remember now even matter anymore? Did it really make me any smarter? Did it really change things?"

He was staring at him, not even bothering to cover it up. "Honestly, Granger. I knew my cooking wasn't the greatest, but maybe we should have kept the little runts around here, because you obviously ate something bad."

"I would have imagined you jumping all over this." Hermione raised her eyebrows as she took another dignified bite, ironically eager to prove there was nothing wrong with his food.

"Yeah, I don't know what's wrong with me."

She caught his grimace as he pushed his plate away.

"I must be getting crazy from you hanging around for so long." He crossed his arms as he casually leaned back in his chair. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? I didn't think anything could make me want to puke more than what you were like before, but I'll have to take this new humble-you into consideration. For crying out loud Granger, the teachers practically threw outstanding OWLS at you!"

"Oh, that's rich," she threw down her napkin, almost delighted at the break in the politeness, "Coming from someone who lives in a place like this. Pureblood this, pureblood that. How much are you worth, Malfoy? Can you even count that high?"

"I imagine it won't bother you too much," Malfoy shot back, "But I don't think I can count on being in the family will much longer. I have you to thank for that."

"Why did you do it?" She shouted back, no longer caring that she was breaching into the touchiest topic on the list of officially banned subjects they'd unofficially agreed on. "Why did you kill him? Why did you help me?"

"I hated him." Malfoy was looking off into the fire, shaking his head slowly as though trying to get rid of the sneer that was curling at his lips. "I hated him …"

"That's not an excuse to kill someone." Hermione pursed her lips, finding that she was disappointed by his answer.

"Maybe not in the world you frolic in."

"That's not true and you know it. What happened—how did you do it?" she asked, stringing the questions she'd been dying to ask together in one breath.

Malfoy slowly faced her, his sneer not abating.

"What do you care? You got away."

"Did you use—an Unforgivable?" she asked as gently as she could while on the receiving end of his sneer.

Malfoy gave a short laugh. "There are other ways to kill someone."

"Did you or didn't you?"

"Yes!" he threw his hands up. "Will you ever learn? I'm surprised even Weasley was dumb enough to try, it must have been hell putting up with you."

"What did you do with the body? Why aren't they here already?" Hermione pushed on despite feeling her temper slip for the first time since breakfast. Given the circumstances, she should've felt a little proud for lasting this long.

"I hid it," Malfoy said contemptuously, "There's no way they'll ever find it. So, all they know right now is that Draco Malfoy, the kid that screwed up, is missing. He was on a paltry assignment, and the capable Death Eater sent to keep an eye on him disappeared too. For all they know either one of us ran off and the other is still chasing them without a chance to report yet. They won't be worried yet. Still …" He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm going to leave in the morning."

He stared back at her, as though checking to see if she'd changed her mind.

"No one expected you to find Sernab's Sorrow?" she asked carefully, one finger scratching at the tablecloth. She was eager to return to a safer topic now that she had gotten the best answer she was liable to pry from him.

"No, I told you that in the forest." He paused, seeming reluctant about something. "I suppose you read all about it."

"The Stone?"

"Yes."

"Well," Hermione shrugged uneasily, "That's how I found out about it. Why do you want to know?"

"I don't know much about it, just what I was told."

"But you were the one that was sent to find—"

"What does that matter?" Malfoy snapped. Slowly he became aware of himself, and he relaxed his shoulders and leaned back into his chair. "You know about it, so tell me. Tell me like it's a report—or something. Like you would have. For old times' sake." He smirked.

Hermione frowned, not completely trusting Malfoy's semi serious expression. "For old times' sake," she muttered under her breath before unconsciously composing herself, "All that's really known about Sernab's Sorrow, also called just the Stone, is clouded due to the stories surrounding it. A lot of them undoubtedly amount to fables, but Sernab was a notable wizard who lived in the fifteenth century. He is known for making other powerful magical items as well, though the Stone is best known. Before he died he made a place for the Stone to rest, somehow meant also protect it."

"That's wonderful," Malfoy drawled in a way that fervently reminded her of Snape, "If we ever get tested on it I'll be sure to thank you. But what's it supposed to do?"

Hermione passionately scowled at Malfoy. He was the one who had asked for it like a report. "The Stone is said to know a person's deepest sorrow when worn. If carried by that person, it supposedly guides them towards fixing that sorrow. Kind of like a perpetual Felix Felicis potion, granting small bits of luck until their sorrow is ended."

"Then what?"

"How am I supposed to know?" she retorted.

"Well, I guess that protection for the stone was worthless. It was probably pilfered back during the First War. Who knows, maybe that's why things—turned out the way they did."

Hermione took a long measuring look at him as he spoke. He was gazing off towards the ceiling as though he was far away at the other end, looking back at himself. She deliberated carefully on what Malfoy thought had happened, what had actually happened, and what she should do about the difference.

"What would it have done for you?"

Hermione was shook out of her thoughts, for a moment losing what she had been thinking about. When she regained her wits, her first thought was genuine gratitude that Malfoy hadn't looked back at her. It wouldn't have been hard for him to notice that she had been all but staring at him while she thought. But for a moment his unnerving question bounced around her mind before she caught up with it. At first she took its meaning to be something crude before realizing that the real meaning behind it was difficult to answer.

"What do you mean?" she asked, playing it safe and stalling for time.

"What would the Stone have done if you had it? What sorrow would it have found?" He was looking at her now, his eyes still distant, but uncomfortably close all the same.

She felt her shoulders pull in on themselves, as he made no move to advert his unsettling stare.

_What does he want to hear?_

"Sounds like a familiar question," she mumbled sarcastically, "The War … if I had the Stone it would work against Voldemort."

She was watching carefully, almost feverishly, for Malfoy's reaction to her using the Dark Lord's name. But she was disappointed. A cloud seemed to pass over his face and his eyes flashed almost angrily off to the side before she had finished.


	5. Chapter 5

She ducked low and followed him, keeping close to the stone wall and glancing off to their exposed side. But there was nothing there, contrary to what Malfoy believed. They had spent an inordinate amount of time sneaking around the grounds surrounding the manor, apparently making for the strip of woods nearby. She didn't know for certain since he wasn't inclined to tell her.

Malfoy reached the end of the wall, peeking around the corner hesitantly as he crouched in a way that struck her as amusing for some reason. As she came up behind him, mimicking his stance and keeping her head just below the top of the wall, she caught the tail end of the stream of spells he was muttering.

"It's nava-DRO-num, not dra-num." She corrected, even louder than she had intended.

"Shut up!" he hissed, still scanning the area in front of them and off to their left. He had his wand out, slowly following along his line of sight.

"You know this would be a lot easier if we just apparated." She murmured, also looking around at their innocently quiet surroundings.

"You can't apparate out of the mansion," he said, mimicking her matter-of-fact voice.

"We're not in the mansion anymore." She pointed out.

"I'm surprised Granger," he said as he leaned back slightly, evidently marginally satisfied that it was safe, "Someone like you shouldn't pass up an opportunity for some exercise."

With Malfoy's shift in posture, Hermione suddenly found her face uncomfortably close to his neck. In fact, she found her mouth and nose nearly brushing against his ear and the barely checked blond hair just above. Her backwards reaction was too sudden, however, and she lost her precarious balance as she pulled away. When Malfoy looked back to find her sprawled on her back, struggling to pull herself back up, he gave her a smirk as though she had just confirmed his comment.

"You know," Hermione huffed as she fought her way back up to her feet, angrily brushing at the hair in her eyes, "This would probably be a much better idea if I had my wand back."

"Would it now?" Malfoy said distractedly as he peeked over the stone wall.

"Yes, it would." She replied testily. "Not to mention a lot safer. If we actually do run into any big bad Death Eaters, it will be nice to have my wand."

"It didn't help you much last time," Malfoy said stiffly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped before she realized that there was nothing else he could be possibly suggesting by it. "Just give it to me, Malfoy!"

Without preamble, one of his hands reached around with her wand dangling from his fingertips. Before anything else could happen she snatched it away, already feeling much better.

"Next time I'd appreciate a please." He drawled as he inched forward slightly.

"If there is a next time I'll have a special thank you ready," she muttered.

"It would be a first from you."

Something about Malfoy's tone made her look up, but he was still looking away. She grimaced as she waited for a few seconds, but he didn't say anything else.

"So are we going to go, or are we going to stare at it all day?" she inquired, trying to sound more impatient than she actually felt.

"Yeah," Draco nodded slightly, "We make straight for the woods, no stopping. Wait a second after I start to see if anything happens. If nothing does, follow me as fast you can manage and don't stop."

"Huh," Hermione grunted, feigning indignation to cover her surprise at the briskness of his plan, "You're expecting me to cover you?"

"You should be honored," he put his back up against the wall and took a deep breath, "Are you ready?"

"Only for about the last five minutes."

"All right, go." And he was gone, leaving Hermione to scramble to the spot he'd just vacated with her wand ready.

It took her about the allotted second to remember that there was nothing to be worried about, another for her to roll her eyes, and another to steel up her own courage before she dashed off after him.

She knew it was stupid, but it was incredibly easy to imagine a dozen Death Eaters hidden with their wands aimed at them, killing curses ready. Shaking her head, she concentrated on catching up to Malfoy, whom she noted with due irritation was slowing up slightly.

"'As fast as I can manage,'" she repeated angrily as she chased after him.

He was waiting at the very edge of the trees, keeping his wand aimed back the way they'd come and pointedly not looking at her. She was fairly out of breath and had found another reason to be irritated. Malfoy was putting on a good show of breathing slowly through his nose as if he wasn't fazed.

"Oh, by the way Malfoy," she tried to copy him, but found the burning in her lungs too demanding to ignore for the sake of a childish game, "Thank you so very much for everything."

"I aim to please." Draco said as though he'd been waiting to say it all along. But the smirk that had every right to follow according to set precedent was notably absent as he turned and started off.

Kicking herself and whatever had compelled her to say that, she followed.

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Contrary to any preceding expectations, Hermione found traveling with Draco Malfoy to be exceedingly dull. Or at least that was how it went for the rest of that day. They continued walking—on foot—until it began to grow dark out. They clung to the trees, avoiding any open places as much as possible. And they walked.

They did not apparate, use broomsticks or even change up the pace. They simply walked. Malfoy led them on doggedly, pausing only for the shortest lunch break

Hermione'd ever had, and only at her insistence. Of course, there wasn't much to lunch to warrant a long break, but Hermione was keen on any time at all that she could spend off her feet. The walking didn't seem to bother Malfoy any.

She rarely caught glimpses of anything besides his backside, but it was obvious he wasn't exactly in a chatty mood. Much as she hated trying to initiate any kind of conversation with Malfoy, she gave into the compulsion more than once, for her sanity if nothing else. She tried a little bit of everything, even resorting to Quidditch, to his passing amusement. She avoided anything of substance of course; she didn't really want to talk to him about anything important. She just wanted something to take her thoughts off the mind numbing trudging. The scenery was amiable enough, she supposed, but it got monotonous fairly quickly.

Even the sort of surreal sight of following Malfoy, his blond hair strikingly contrasting with everything else, didn't occupy her thoughts long.

But even her best attempts at conversation, painstakingly thought out, deliberated on and tortured over, were all met with a stiff response. And that was when she was lucky. Malfoy had reverted back to the brooding air she'd observed from his library. She didn't even want to think about the library, however, as she had quite carelessly forgotten to make good on her silent promise to borrow a few of the more interesting books. She supposed she could blame it on the excitement over the fact that Malfoy was apparently going to actually let her come with him. Well, excitement probably wasn't the best word.

So, between bouts of trying to come up with another futile discussion trigger, she drifted. She dutifully followed Malfoy, but her mind rarely did the same. Hermione was altogether quite sick of thinking about Malfoy, wondering why he did this, concerned why he acted like that, worried why he had said what he had.

Despite her aimless musings, she made sure to put certain things at the bottom of her list. But through the process of elimination she began to wonder what was happening with the War, with the Order. She'd been out of touch for only a few days, but experience had taught her that a lot could happen in much shorter spans. And then she began to wonder what Harry and Ron were doing.

Malfoy was a good distraction, she had to give him that. She'd certainly had plenty to think about in the past few days and she'd managed to avoid any considerable musings about other things.

But now there was no inhibition, even though Malfoy's back seemed to leer at her knowingly. But she knew that was stupid. He couldn't see her.

And then she cried.

It didn't start right away, of course. But lingering thoughts of Harry and Ron always recalled the words that were still so fresh. The arguments would start again in her head, the defending, the rationalizing, then the pleading. But it always ended up the same way, with the accusing faces leering at what remained of her reasoning. And the horrible feeling that they were right, that she had been wrong, that she had been stupid, she had been wrong, she—

Perhaps that she could take, but it was always that same expression that drove her over the edge.

Things had been going well. She'd been waiting so long that she didn't even remember exactly when it had started. But it had happened, the things she'd been waiting for. The looks, the caresses, the words that she'd wanted so badly.

Even when he had found out about everything she'd been hopeful, naively hopeful that he would understand. Why shouldn't he? He'd finally come to understand what she'd known for so long.

But the uncertain express had hardened, his blue eyes made up before he'd even heard it all, before he'd even heard her side.

And that was the memory that did it every time, that drove her over the edge. For a long time she just walked and cried, but then the sobs came. She trailed farther behind, unable to hold back the worst.

Malfoy continued on, for all appearances oblivious. But it was ironically the sniffing of her running nose that caused him to look back.

His expression froze, clearly not seeing what he had expected. He came up short and Hermione stopped as well, frantically trying to wipe away the evidence. But when she looked again his expression had hardened in a familiar way, and he turned away without a word.

She thought about leaving then.

It would've been so easy. She could've stopped and apparated far away. Any place else would've been better in that moment. If Malfoy's retreating back was any indication, his opinion of her accompanying him hadn't changed since he'd demanded her to leave. She'd be doing both of them a favor. And what was all this amounting to? While a war was raging on she was following Malfoy around to God only knew where. Though in order to feel like she was wasting her time, she had to overlook the fact that she was no longer wanted on the side of the war that held everything she cared for.

Her chest heaved in a quaking breath. She wiped at her eyes as she hurried after Malfoy, feeling awkward even though no one was watching her.

Long before she'd caught up without so much as a curious glance from him, she'd decided why she was following Malfoy around, for all present appearances quite pointlessly. She had been making a habit of lying to herself, lately more than ever, but this was something she had to be honest about.

She was not following Malfoy because she had nowhere else to go to. That certainly made for convincing support, but that was not the real reason. The fact was Draco Malfoy needed help. Looking back, she realized how obvious it was. This was not the sniveling brat she'd known for too long. This was a lost man, with scarce few choices and even fewer friends.

No, it was not because she was nearly as alone as he was, or that she owed him more than she could probably ever repay. She was going to help Draco Malfoy, whether he wanted her to or not, because he needed it.

"So, have you heard what's going to happen with the next Quidditch World Cup?" It was pathetic, as attested to by the answering silence, but it was a start.


	6. Chapter 6

"So where are we going, Malfoy?"

To be perfectly honest, she had worn the question out. She had only asked it a few times to little response, but it still felt like she'd been trying to Crucio it out him all day. She felt considerably stupid and nagging every time, but she was finding it much harder not knowing anything at all, hence the cycle that had constituted the bulk of the day's otherwise monotonous march.

"You know, normal human beings do get tired eventually," Malfoy muttered as he put a smokeless charm over the small fire he'd started, "You'd probably be more convincing in trying to be one by shutting up for a change."

"Don't talk to me about being tired," she mutinously rubbed at her feet, "I'd just like to think that this little stroll isn't for nothing, that's all."

"No one's making you come."

Hermione snorted but couldn't think of a suitable retort.

Malfoy straightened himself up and stretched. He'd done an admirable job of setting up a discreet camp with what they had, but his mood had swung from moody silence into what now resembled moody conversation. Hermione still wasn't sure which one she preferred.

"Could it really hurt?" Hermione pressed again, reasoning to herself that she should take advantage of the present conversation, moody or not. "A direction, a vague destination? Or how about a point?"

Malfoy had his arms crossed and was looking off towards where the sun was setting, mostly obscured by the trees from their point of view. Hermione was about to speak up again when he suddenly took a step away from her.

It was so jerky and uncertain that she couldn't do anything more than watch as Malfoy took another. With the third step he didn't stop. He brought his foot up and sent one of his conjured chairs up in the air with a distinct crunch.

Hermione was on her feet immediately, though she froze as he whirled around in her direction. He didn't look at her, however. Instead, he started pacing back and forth, running one of his hands through his hair and muttering beneath his breath.

"How did I end up here!" he shouted after several solid seconds of this, his eyes blazing but still avoiding her as if she wasn't there. "How did I end up with you of all people? Is this supposed to be what irony is, because it's really not funny. I wish you'd never even thought of going for that stupid stone, or better yet, I wish I hadn't gone. Or wait, better yet—"

His eyes locked with hers, an unmistakable glimmer of surprise flashing through his expression before it hardened again.

"I wish I hadn't helped you, Mudblood." He took a few steps forward in her direction. "What do you think about that? I don't think we've _talked _about that yet. You've brought up everything else today. Would you like to talk about that? What would it have mattered if Leach had soiled you, it would've just been another Mudblood. And … and—"

And he'd gotten too close to her. They both realized it at the same moment. Hermione was going to move back and she may have without remembering it, but something in his eyes made her blood go cold, obliterating all but one horrible thought.

"But I will tell you what I'm going to do tonight, Granger," he'd already whirled away with his wand in hand. He already had a bottle conjured by the time he turned back and raised it at her. "I'm going to toast to our little pointless trip, as hopefully short as it will be."

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She had never had the opportunity to really watch him. She certainly had never had the inclination either, and that was still true. But there wasn't much else to occupy her as she watched him finish off two conjured bottles. His forced mirth didn't last, and he spent most of the time sitting opposite of her, watching the fire. It was a somber profile of him, his empty gaze lit by the flickering fire as the remains of daylight faded. At first he mostly complained about how conjured alcohol didn't taste as good. He remained silent in between these bouts, with only the occasional furtive glance over at her. She found she didn't like that at all.

But there came a point when she somehow knew that conversation with him would succeed where it hadn't for the rest of the day. Perhaps it was in the way she could feel his loneliness, as unapologetically intoxicated as it was. She had exhausted most of the available topics earlier, but conversation was much easier when he was actually contributing. As annoying as it was to put up with his insults and jeers, his mood was constantly swinging, so that at times he had the same geniality he had shown for a short while back at the manor. It was as though his side of the conversation was reflecting some kind of inner conflict.

"Says this whole new Granger, the Mudblood that has been revealed to be 'not that smart.'" He smirked and took another drought as he stared down into the fire.

"No, we were just friends, we still write to each other." Hermione didn't mind when the conversation had veered into uncomfortable territory. After all, at the rate Malfoy was going he probably wouldn't remember anything in the morning anyway.

"What a git," Malfoy said, shaking his head, "All of you. You three have to have the most pathetic set of love lives I've ever seen. You think you're all so wise because you've each had one."

Hermione looked away and threw as much venom into her voice as she could muster. "Well, how many girlfriends have you had? Does pug-faced Parkinson actually count?"

"Curious?" Draco flashed her a grin as he took another swallow from his bottle.

"Right," Hermione rolled her eyes.

Silence followed, and she had the unnerving sensation that he was staring at her, but when she looked back he was innocently gazing up at a patch of stars visible through the leaves. That was what finally put her fears to rest, most of them anyway.

Despite the chance of conversation, any conversation, being pathetically alluring, even with Malfoy, she was getting drowsy. She was about to stand up and pick out a place to sleep when he spoke up again almost hurriedly.

"So where are they?"

"What?" she threw him an annoyed glare and barely concealed her suspicion. "Who?"

"Who do you think?" Malfoy murmured. "Your two hopeless gits."

"That's none of your business."

"You don't know, do you?" He gave a knowing smirk. "I'm shocked. You mean that they don't owl you even after tossing you out?"

"It's hardly necessary when we both know that they're chasing down your little Death Eater friends." Hermione spat.

"Hmm, but I don't think so," Malfoy continued undaunted, "They have a tendency to disappear for long stretches. They must be doing something important, though I don't think their egos could take anything less."

"Do they let _little Malfoy_ listen in on meetings?" she felt the impulse to snigger until she remembered from whom she had heard that phrase last.

But Draco didn't seem to hear her. "But I'm honestly surprised that dolt isn't writing to you. Course he probably can't afford the parchment. You know … it's no fun when they're not around. But seriously, why hasn't the Boy Wonder written? He hasn't got any excuses, besides you flushing his brain with that stuff. Honestly Granger, what did you think was going to happen? But what have you got to worry about? Everything will turn around, after all. You'll all kiss and make up. _They need me. _Remember?"

Hermione couldn't recall exactly when she had gotten to her feet, but she distinctly felt her face flush almost unbearably hot. She let out a trembling breath, unsure whether she was more furious at her anger or his mocking use of her own words. Malfoy hadn't exactly shown any more restraint about what he said than he ever had before, but it had seemed unofficially established that they wouldn't use anything they'd said to each other since they'd … come together.

There didn't even seem to be an appropriate word for what they were doing together, and that only made her madder.

What right did he have to say anything like that?

Malfoy was still talking, but his voice had lowered to a contemptuous mutter that didn't sound like it was directed at her. She had trouble catching what he said between his swallows from the bottle.

"… bloody expect, and Potter … what did he expect … wanker think that they wouldn't know about her … Ginny and that stupid wanker—"

But Malfoy halted suddenly upon looking up and seeing the stunned expression on Hermione's face. He might have said something to her, but her mind was already a long ways away, a dozen snatches of conversations and guarded looks suddenly working their way together. She'd learned some time ago that random names of the opposite sex didn't just go around being said for no reason.

"You like Ginny Weasley." She said it, breathed it, as though it had always been obvious.

"What are you talking about?" But his frozen expression said it all.

"Ginny Weasley," Hermione repeated, almost accusingly. The odd thoughts connecting the two of them that she had always brushed aside were vivid now. It was obvious. No, not obvious, but she should have seen it sooner nonetheless. Now she was left teetering on the edge between outright triumph and shock at the almost complete lack of surprise she felt at the revelation.

And she was angry. She ironically noticed it in his expression before she felt for herself the undoubtedly disturbing mixture of emotions on her face. But why shouldn't she be angry? Malfoy had betrayed her with something she had foolishly thought was safe between them. But it was Malfoy after all, what had she been expecting? Just because he hadn't cursed her off yet didn't mean she should be foolish enough to trust him.

But she had trusted him, and she still did, really. It was hard to decide which made her angrier.

"So, was it Potter who said—" Malfoy was saying, almost to himself, looking like he was working frantically to come up with something to say. "Oh, of course not. So silly of me, I keep forgetting that you aren't the happy little trio anymore."

"Pretty hypocritical for a pompous Pure Blood, don't you think?" She spat, finding the necessarily venom within easy reach. "Going for a Blood Traitor? What would your father say?"

"I do not like that Weasel," Malfoy said distastefully, perhaps picking up how stupid it sounded now to say that he didn't like someone. It was as if they were back in school.

"If she's a Weasel," Hermione sneered, not really caring to stick up for her friend. It was Ginny who was responsible for all this, in more than one way. "Then I suppose you two are perfect for each other. The Weasel and the ferret, how touching."

"Oh, spare me," Malfoy rose to his feet unsteadily, looking as though he was annoyed at his lack of control on both fronts, "Feeling all high and mighty because you think you've figured something out? I swear you're so pathetic—"

"But am I wrong?" Hermione raised her eyebrows challengingly. "I'm not, am I? The truth is you're the one that's pathetic. Going on and on about your precious blood as long it benefits you, but then you go and—and— That's what I call pathetic, Malfoy. Pure Blood. You sure know how to pick them."

Malfoy froze, and for the first time since they'd run into each other in the forest Hermione saw a second's worth of unconcealed fear. "What does that mean?"

"I—what?" she stopped, shaken out of her building tirade despite herself. "What does what mean?"

"What you just said." Malfoy said loudly, accusingly.

It took Hermione another second to remember exactly what she had last said, intent as she had been on the next part. "What? Saying you know how to pick them? It doesn't mean anything. It was just something—it was just an expression. Why do you care?"

"That's just the point, Granger," he gave a disgusted shake of his head as he stalked off, "I don't."


	7. Chapter 7

She fell into a troubled sleep before he came back, if he had at all. He was also gone when she awoke, and she wondered if he had finally made good on the vague threat of leaving her behind. The possibility was more distressing than it should have been. It was, however, the nagging thought that she should've taken some precautions for this possibility that was responsible for setting her off.

He found her that way some time later, trying her best to levitate one of the chairs he'd conjured. She had been at it for a long time and was probably quite a sight. She was covered with sweat and drenched in frustration; her patience was already well frayed from the lack of fitful sleep she'd had. Certainly she'd had all night to sleep, but she had woken feeling exhausted.

After one of her more promising attempts faltered back to the ground, she bit back what she would've liked to have said and turned to find him staring at her. He was leaning against a tree as casually as he ever could've managed, but his countenance was quite the opposite.

"What?" she snapped at his expression. She was beginning to realize how much better she had liked it when his face had been more predictable.

"I've been wondering why you threw one spell and ran," Malfoy said, almost thoughtfully.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked before she grasped that he was referring to Leach and what had happened in the forest. "What did you expect me to do? Stand and fight against both of you?"

Malfoy twisted his face. "Do you honestly think that I would have—_helped_ that bastard? Even if I would've, I would not have ever touched you, you filthy—"

"But you would've last night," Hermione interrupted, her eyes alight and reveling in his reaction, the resolution she'd made not to mention her unconfirmed suspicions promptly forgotten.

Malfoy sputtered in surprise.

"Do you think you fooled me?" she sneered and shook off the annoying pang of guilt that followed. Somehow she knew that he couldn't deny it, that it was a safe accusation. "You were steeling yourself up to do the exact same thing to me, or something of the sort. Don't deny it. Then you were going to leave in a swell of pathetic glory. What's the matter Malfoy, can't you even drink yourself enough guts?"

Malfoy was shaking his head as though at a denial that ran deeper, but he didn't say anything to contradict her.

"Without your merry band of half-wits around—" Hermione continued as she turned back to levitating the chair as if it was a casual thing, "Your standards slid pretty low. Or were you drunk enough to forget your precious blood for a single minute?"

But Malfoy had returned to his initial reaction as the chair continued to mock her efforts.

"If I put on a bad act last night," he murmured almost uncertainly as he slid his knowing eyes back to her, "At least I don't live in one. Look at you Granger. You can't even levitate a chair. Want me to Reducio it for you?"

Hermione was at a loss, but knew that it would only make matters worse by giving up in front of him.

"I'd heard of it before," Malfoy whispered as he pushed himself off the tree and sauntered towards her, "Losing prowess over love lost, or something like that. Which one was it that broke your poor little heart? Hopefully not that red headed bloke."

Hermione whirled on him. "And where would you have heard that saying from? Coming from the spoiled brat of a family that doesn't even care—do you even realize how horribly pitiful you look trailing behind your father like a puppy hoping for love? So what is it you do to make up for it?"

"Shut your mouth, Mudblood," he snarled and advanced on her.

"You take it out on everyone else because you find it oh so hard to believe that there's always someone better than you at everything. At Quidditch, at studies, at—"

But she stopped as he reached her with his eyes blazing and his hand abruptly raised. She may have cowered slightly then. But something made him slowly lower his hand and recompose his furious expression.

"This—this isn't what I came here to say," Draco slowly let out a slightly shaky breath, "I came back here to ask you to leave. I'm asking you now. Please … just go away."

She laughed at him then, almost surprising herself at how derisive it sounded even to her ears.

"Hit me then."

There was a stunned handful of heartbeats.

"What?" Draco demanded. "Have you gone daft?"

"I told you to hit me," Hermione repeated firmly, marveling at how good it felt to mimic the way he often talked down to her as if she was a simple child. The words themselves came easily to her mouth out of the half-formed fantasies she'd held of a moment like this for so long, though she couldn't remember when exactly she'd thought them.

"You have gone mad." He said, his shocked face clearly showing that he was genuinely considering the possibility.

"If you really want me to leave," Hermione said slowly, clearly, "Then you will hit me. I won't leave otherwise."

Malfoy's openmouthed expression fought a pitched battle between shock and disgust, but he made no further movements towards her. The battle tipped in favor of shock, however, when she laughed again.

"That's what I thought," she turned and threw another glance over her shoulder, pushing past the horrible feeling in her stomach to the giddy sensation of triumph, "Face it, Malfoy. As pitiful as it is, right now I'm all you've got. And you're stuck with me."

"Oh—I suppose that's how it is," Malfoy yelled after her, "We all know what you get out of this, but what do you want from me? Huh? What do you want from me?"

"Maybe it isn't so much having no place to go," Hermione yelled back without turning, absently rubbing at her neck, "Maybe I just need a lost cause."

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By the time Hermione returned from her pleasant stroll of rehearsing how their next conversation might go, Malfoy had already broke camp. He was lounging and lazily levitating the remaining chair above his head.

With only a knowing smirk directed at her, he rose to his feet, took care of the chair and started off. Huffing slightly at losing the chance to put all of her rehearsing to good use, she reluctantly followed.

The rest of the morning passed much as the last had. Only this time, she started out as sore as she had been the previous night and ended up far worse. Malfoy didn't appear to be bothered by it, but she suspected that he was merely better at covering it up. Or at least that's what she hoped.

Though distant, his mood seemed less bitter and brooding than it had been, and he didn't go out of his way to take Hermione's baiting either. Her desire for small talk had almost completely abated, for more than one reason. She still kept asking him where they were going when she thought he was least suspecting it, in the hopes of surprising it out of him. But the tactic worked even less effectively with him than it usually had on her friends.

"Almost there," Malfoy announced near midday, somehow almost cheerfully, "Suck it up, Granger. What's the matter? Is this a little harder than getting to the library?"

For the past several hours they'd climbed aimlessly up and down fairly steep hills that were only getting worse. The trees had thinned out somewhat and were entirely absent in some places. It hadn't taken very long for the sun to become uncomfortably, almost unbearably hot. Malfoy, whom she fervently hoped was just as miserably uncomfortable as she was, took special delight in her appearance when he bothered to look back at her. She supposed she looked a bit worse for wear. Her hair was all but plastered to her neck and her hands were filthy from scrambling up the hills. It was actually quite remarkable that she had so far managed to keep from wiping her sweaty face off with her dirty palms. She hid them whenever Malfoy was looking. The last thing she needed right now was to endure unoriginal jokes about mud.

Okay, maybe she was getting a bit paranoid, but she wasn't about to give him any easy opportunities in light of their recent conversations.

"If you really want to kill me, you may as well get it over with," Hermione retorted at his comment, at a loss to come up with anything better, "There's no need to drag me around this God forsaken place."

Malfoy laughed. "What do you know about God forsaken? And besides, no one is forcing you to come, remember? By all means, turn right around, Mudblood. Do us both a favor."

"What do you mean, we're almost there?" she asked, acting as if he hadn't spoken.

"Curiosity killed the Mudblood," Malfoy leered and turned his back to her.

Hermione had no idea how he could say with any certainty that they were "almost there." She wouldn't have believed him had he not sounded so sincere; it sounded almost as if he was trying to justify all this. But she didn't know how he could tell one place from another. It all looked the same to her. Well, that was if one ignored the worryingly bad turn the terrain had decided to favor them with. She did try to keep an eye out for how he was deciding their direction. In other circumstances she may have been able to see most of what Malfoy was doing. But as it was, she was required to spend the majority of her time simply concentrating on picking out her way safely. Somehow she'd avoided slipping this far, though the prospect was perpetually nipping at her dubious footing.

In any case, she'd never seen him take out a compass, and she rarely saw him using his wand for anything but mundane tasks. He would check the sun every now and then, but she figured he was just keeping track of the time. After all, surely he wouldn't be able to get more than a crude idea, at best, of their direction from it.

But now she knew they were actually going somewhere, and this lifted her mood considerably. She might have even managed to pull herself out of the pit of irritation she found herself clambering up and down in if conditions had been a little more favorable.

The rise may have been slightly taller than the others and its spine was surprisingly flat, but by all other noteworthy appearances it was just the top of another hill. However, someone might have thought they'd scaled Everest from the way Malfoy scrambled to the top and looked back down over their progress. When Hermione reached the top a minute or so behind him, she could find no positive inclination to look back in that direction at all.

After getting fed up with Malfoy's self-satisfied expression and the expectant look he was giving her, she plopped down beside a tree and sent him the best glare she could muster in present conditions.

"Well, is this it?" Hermione threw some disdain behind the question.

"That's right, Granger," Malfoy gestured broadly, "Well?"

"Well?" she shot back testily.

"Come on, at least try. I'd hate to think I've dragged you this far for you to miss it entirely." Malfoy was using that incredibly gloating voice that he seemed to save for special occasions.

"It's a nice view," she glowered back the way they'd come with some passion, "But I hope this isn't the best you can do. If it is, you might be a worse lost cause than I had thought, because you're all but ready for St. Mungo's."

"If you can still pull your arse up, you'll find you're sitting on it," Malfoy drawled as he sauntered over closer and leaned his shoulder against a tree.

Hermione didn't follow his advice until she'd thoroughly examined everything around her. When she found nothing out of the ordinary, she did pick herself up with as much dignity as possible, only to find that she had been sitting on a rather unremarkable pile of dirt, if it could even be called that. She had been half expecting to find something like an anthill; she wouldn't have put it past Malfoy.

"You give up?" he asked, clearly enjoying himself.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and furiously examined their surroundings again, disgusted at the very prospect of giving into Malfoy. It was only when she had stopped looking for something big or extremely out of the ordinary that she noticed a noticeable strip of ground beneath them that seemed slightly more beaten down than the rest. It was covered with leaves and littered with small bits of debris, but it was still noticeable. She experienced annoyance that she hadn't noticed it sooner. A moment's uncertainty came with the thought that it couldn't possibly be something quite so obvious. Maybe she was seeing things, but when she looked up she saw that Malfoy was watching her. He was watching her intently, with a knowing smile, not unlike when he had led her to the library.

"Where does it lead?" she asked, taking a chance on the odds that she wasn't seeing things.

"Anywhere you so desire," Malfoy smirked.


	8. Chapter 8

Realization dawned and she studied him carefully, wary at how easily he could be duping her.

"So it's a Traveler's Path?"

"Five points for Gryfinndor," he nodded towards it, "I'm sure the recently revealed 'not so smart' Miss Granger can tell us all about it."

"Actually, the details are a bit hazy," she lied, "Why don't you inform everyone?"

Malfoy smirked. "Are you sure you can take it?"

"I can take it," she snapped, well beyond caring how childish she probably sounded.

"A Traveler's Path is enchanted to lead its users to wherever they wish to go, whichever place they hold at the front of their minds." Malfoy started walking slowly away from her, looking towards where they could now see the path infinitely stretching straight along the spine of the hill, itself having become endless in either direction.

"What happens if we both want to go to different places?" she asked, irked at his bare response.

"It only works for whoever is walking in front," Malfoy said simply.

"So you, in other words." She narrowed her eyes at the nagging irritation that their situation hadn't changed after all in the slightest. She still had no idea where they were going.

"In other words," Malfoy turned back towards her, "This is your last chance to leave me alone before we both end up a long ways away from here."

"Why can't we just apparate?" she asked, deciding that it was best to altogether avoid the present topic of separating. "It seems to me that it would be a good deal easier, unless we are going a fairly long ways, in which case a portkey—"

"I'm not telling you where we're going," Malfoy interrupted wearily, as if she had been bugging him about that ever since they'd left the Manor. Well, she supposed that wasn't entirely incorrect.

"Why not?" she yelled, flinging her arms up in the air mockingly. "What is honestly the big deal?"

"Because you want to know," he sneered at her.

"Oh, that's really mature," she rolled her eyes.

"Just like following me around like a little lost puppy," he feigned a moment's thought, "But then again, I suppose I'd rather a puppy following me than a filthy Mudblood. At least a dog knows what it is."

"I'm not going away," she said loudly.

His wand was suddenly out and his expression lost all traces of the humor she hadn't even realized he'd had. For a moment he looked as though he was actually going to hex her, but she watched as he reigned in his abrupt anger.

"I could stop you right now," he whispered, "Stop you from following me a hundred different ways. But only a few of them would be satisfying enough. It wouldn't make up for everything—it's too late now. But it would make me feel better."

She didn't say what she wanted to, but she still couldn't keep from slowly shaking her head at him. Even though she didn't really think he was going to do anything to her, she had to forcibly exhale the breath she'd been holding.

He wouldn't do anything. He was as spineless as ever; all talk, if this was even that. It wasn't extraordinarily difficult to deduce that this was merely another act, a more desperate attempt to scare her off. Somehow she knew that.

"Come on, Malfoy," she said gently, "Let's just apparate."

"No." He had blurted the word before he could help himself, and then he sat for a moment fuming, looking even angrier than before. Or childish, she really couldn't decide.

"You can't," she blurted out in nearly the same manner. "You can't apparate, can you?"

Malfoy gave a sullen look before stepping past her.

"What's the matter?" Hermione taunted, seizing the rare opportunity even though she really didn't want him angry anymore. "Can't little Malfoy do the three D's?"

"I can apparate!" he shouted back at her.

"Oh, really? Then why don't we?" she asked in a mockingly sweet voice.

"Because I've got an anti-apparition curse on me, all right? Are you happy now?"

Hermione came up short. "They cursed you?"

"No, I thought it might make for good exercise if I walked a little more," he snapped, "So I can't apparate, okay? Are you done? Is there something else? Do you want to try to figure out my favorite color? Or how about my list of most annoying people? I'll even give you a hint on the first person."

"But …" she disregarded his vehemence for a moment and chewed on her lip, trying to remember everything she knew about apparition curses, "If you tell me where we're going, you can side along apparate with me, or—"

"Granger, use you head," he looked at her as though it was possible she didn't have one, "Do you have any idea what would happen to me if I did that? Oh yeah, and it probably would be a little detrimental to your health too."

Hermione turned her head away from his glare and fought down the distinctive longing to shout at him. He was treating her like she was stupid again. But how was it her fault that she had no idea what kind of curse had been put on him, much less its exact effects?

"They didn't trust little Malfoy, so they used a leash," she spat half-heartedly as she fought to regroup her thoughts.

"What do you think?" He was pacing again, apparently riled at being forced to admit something else to her. Honestly, sometimes he could be so frustrating in unintentional ways. She wondered if he knew just how much those kinds of things bothered her.

She pursed her lips, wondering how everything had gotten off track so badly regarding their work-in-progress relationship. Admittedly, only so much could be blamed on the conditions. The rest was her fault. That much she had to concede. She had made some progress with it. For a time things had been going marginally well. And then something had happened that had pulled everything apart, though she couldn't remember what exactly.

He had broken her trust. That must have been it. He'd used her words against her, and things had deteriorated from there. Well, if this was ever going to work, it would be up to her to see to it. It was so temptingly easy to continue on with the insults and the bickering, but that was certainly never going to get them anywhere.

On some level she realized she enjoyed it. That was an odd thought, but obviously it must have something to do with not having Ron around, or even Harry. Yes, that had to be it.

She knew that there was no sense in holding a grudge against Malfoy for something she shouldn't have trusted him with in the first place. She would just have to make sure she didn't make the same mistake again. As long as Malfoy wasn't really willing to get rid of her through forceful means, now was as good a time as any to set things right. She only needed a place to start.

"Malfoy … listen, I'm sorry."

"What?" he looked over at her sharply, then carefully. "What for?"

"Well …" she stalled, mentally scrolling down the rather lengthy list, "I'm sorry that I thought we weren't going anywhere, that all this was pointless. I honestly wasn't expecting that we were going to a Traveler's Path. It's … much better than anything I could've come up with. It really is a useful way to get around, isn't it?"

If she'd been hoping for him to be pleased after all the expectant looks he'd gave her, she would have been disappointed. In any case, she still kind of was.

"Too bad we can't apparate, though," Malfoy said in a challenging voice.

"That doesn't matter," she said, using her best soothing tone.

He threw her a vaguely disgusted glance and stalked off down the path. Seeing her proverbial window of opportunity slamming shut on her proverbial fingers, she took a few hesitant steps and decided to use her trump card before he got far enough away to make conversation awkward.

"Is it true though?" she called after him.

He halted, somehow managing to make every motion required in that simple movement convey frustration. "No, Granger. I can't apparate."

"No, not that," she spoke up quickly, "That doesn't matter. There's nothing wrong with that—it's not your fault, not really. I mean—no—it isn't your fault at all. When we get back somewhere maybe I can help you get rid of it or—" she hurried forward at his expression, "But what I meant to say was … was I right about last night? About what you were trying to do? I was trying to be mean … that's all … really, and I'm sorry if I was mistaken."

Draco looked down at his feet. "I don't remember much about last night," he admitted softly.

"Well, that's that then," she declared briskly, seeing that it might be bad to let Malfoy say anything humiliating that he might get angry about later. Still, she couldn't help herself from beaming at him. Before he looked back at her she had to hide it by hastily turning away in hopes of maintaining the present seriousness. "And I'm … sorry. I really am."

When she looked back he was already striding off, and with a small elation of victory she followed. She'd lost track a long time ago how many times he'd threatened her in various degrees, but she knew now more than ever that she'd been right from the beginning.

Honestly, she didn't know what she wanted with him. There was no long-term goal that she knew of. The short term only required that he be tolerable. The long-term would come eventually, in its own time.

For every threat he threw at her, she knew she could prove each one wrong. And that made her smile.

---------------------------------------------------

She was so happy in fact that she paid no heed to where they were going. Malfoy led and she followed, going over and over again in her mind what he had said. Somehow the simple admission he'd given, while pathetic had it come from anyone else, was somehow special because he'd said it. He hadn't exactly apologized, but she had little doubt that that was the closest she'd be getting from him anytime soon. Had he actually ever apologized to her before, or to anyone else for that matter? Not that she had ever seen, at least not by his own compulsion.

These were facts she'd known for a long time, but still she wasn't satisfied until she had dissected the matter and examined it from every possible angle, almost afraid that she would find something to negate or lessen it.

But she didn't.

It was special, she knew it was.

That must have been how he found her when he looked back. She was following the ground with her eyes, a dopey smile on her face.

"What?" he called back, sounding cautious.

At that particular moment she must have looked terrified. Had she slipped and spoken out loud what she'd been thinking? Had he somehow heard her thoughts?

She had the briefest moment to appreciate how ridiculous those fears were before everything suddenly went dark. An almost gentle movement swept over her head, not unlike a soft cloak being drawn. Then everything was abruptly light again. Her breath caught as blinding pain flashed suddenly at the center of her chest.

Malfoy's eyes had gone wide. She watched numbly as he drew his wand and staggered indecisively off the middle of the trail.

Her mind only had the barest time to grasp these things before the cause of it all swung into view, bearing down on Malfoy with its feet extended to strike.

It was a considerable black mass, consisting of almost elegant, enveloping wings and the horse-like legs in question. Despite the swiftness in which it passed and the awkward angle presented to her, Hermione's mind had already dutifully identified it.

"Malfoy!" she found herself screaming. She could only watch almost dazedly as the thing swept by him, lashing out with its legs. But momentum carried it past Malfoy before it could hit him. It let out a horrible screech as it tried vainly to snap at him from back over its shoulder.

Malfoy was, with amazing dexterity, scrambling backwards off of the path and closer to the trees. Hermione was caught between the nearly stifling instinct to get as far away from Malfoy as possible and the sense that she needed to run and help him. Belatedly she had her own wand out, but what was she going to do? What could she do?

The griffin wheeled around, its enormous wings trembling as though with excitement. When it discovered that the two of them were no longer on the open path it let out another shriek, this time in obvious disappointment as it dove low through the path where they'd just left. It began to circle again.

She realized she was mindlessly screaming various combinations of the same thing over and over. "Malfoy, it's a griffin, it's a griffin!"

"I know!" he shouted back. "Get to the other side! The _other_ side!"

But she could no more move logically than she could form a coherent thought. She continued to retreat further into the trees as the creature landed on the path almost gingerly.

It wasn't even looking at her. With a hiss and then another shriek, deafening at this distance, it advanced slowly on Malfoy, almost cautiously. His wand was extended straight at it, but it visibly shook in his grip as he circled around the griffin, plunging clumsily deeper into the woods and being careful to keep as many trees between them as possible.

Abruptly the griffin let out another shriek and leaped forward faster than Hermione would've imagined possible. Its lunging head was stopped only a few short feet from Malfoy's chest when its shoulders caught in a space too narrow for it to push past. Hissing as it franticly writhed forward, its beak nearly caught Malfoy's cloak as it madly snapped at him.

"Impedimenta!" Malfoy bellowed as he stumbled backwards, immediately scrambling back to his feet and running the opposite direction away from her. "Blast it, do something Granger! Do something!"

She took two quick steps forward, immediately freezing again when the griffin's rear legs spun around as it changed tactics and tried to pull itself backwards. Malfoy's shouting was hardly discernable above the pulse beating furiously inside her head. Her knees were so weak that she sought a tree for support as she stared at the creature. It was so disconcertingly similar in form to a hippogriff, but terribly different all the same. It was like a twisted version of Buckbeak, a giant twisted version.

She tried, she really did. But with each step she made towards it, the panic was nearly enough to push her a dozen backwards. Every time she tried to fight it, to reason that just standing here was foolish, the urge pulling at her stomach to turn and run nearly won out altogether.

For all the surprising speed in which she'd identified the griffin, she could not think a single word of what she'd learned about them. It wasn't that her mind had gone blank. Well, it partially had, but it seemed like such an effort just to remember that she should be thinking at all, that she needed to break through the panic that was so close to overwhelming her.

The griffin finally succeeded in extracting itself, managing to step back onto the edge of the trail. For a moment time came to horrifying halt as its eyes snapped over to hers, as though it was just now noticing her for the first time. It had black, hungry eyes. Hermione found herself completely unable to comprehend anything that didn't fall into the dead reflection staring back at her.

"Reducto!" Malfoy's hoarse shout jarred Hermione to her senses a moment before the griffin screamed and twisted itself around in an unnatural way, using its wings to propel the movement.

Malfoy had stopped for a moment in the middle of the path again. Now he paid no pretense to keeping his eyes on the creature as he turned and dashed for the opposite tree line. Again the griffin swept past him as it lunged, though this time not nearly as swiftly as when it had been airborne.

Hermione clenched her fists together almost painfully and seized upon the fleeting courage the moment lent her. She started running when she saw Malfoy stumble and nearly fall again. Racing up to the middle of the path, she pointed her wand to where the griffin was fighting to regain control of its momentum and turn around again.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!" she screamed again and again as hard as she could, as though that might change the pitiful results that her wand issued. The ensuing red light barely reached the griffin at all, and what little did had no visible effect.

"Impedimenta!" Malfoy was now sputtering a stream of spells as the griffin closed in on him, this time more carefully, as though it had learned not to lunge so recklessly. "Sectumsempra!"


	9. Chapter 9

The effect was immediate. Hermione couldn't see much of the griffin's front, but she heard the agonized shriek and saw bits of the result. When the griffin twisted its head around in a frenzy, she saw that huge slashes had opened up across its face and chest and trembling wings.

Hermione could only watch as it took another stunning spell directly to its head before it shrieked again and closed the scant distance and snapped at Malfoy's shoulder.

Somehow that action was all wrong, unreal almost. For some reason it didn't seem real, like there was some subconscious part of her mind that couldn't comprehend Malfoy getting hit like that. But he was slammed to the ground all the same, his face plainly saying that it was indeed real. She felt her heart clench and the center of her chest burned.

Then Malfoy was lost entirely from her view as the griffin pushed past and over him in a feral manner, any hint of the grace it might've had now wholly absent.

"Relashio magnus!"

It was a wonder that she heard it at all with so much noise pounding all around her.

The shriek that the griffin had been issuing turned suddenly from agonized to terrified.

It wrenched itself away like it had been burned. By now there was blood everywhere, and Hermione watched in shock as Malfoy clambered to his feet, his cloak coated with it. He still had his wand in his good arm while he cradled the other.

A moment later, as though the griffin had suddenly changed its mind, it ceased its frantic retreat and gave a low snarl, but Malfoy advanced on it as quickly as his awkward gait would allow.

"Relashio magnus! Relashio magnus!" he cried, relentlessly punctuating each incantation with a harsh flick of his wand. The griffin squealed and shied away from him again. Another stunner followed by the same incantation and the creature turned with some finality and fled down the path.

Hermione barely had the wits to move out of the way before it swept past her. With Malfoy's spells still chasing after it, the griffin gave one final shriek and spread it wings. A moment later and it was gone, the echoes of its cries eerily dying away through the forest, which had suddenly fallen silent.

Malfoy muttered the incantation again as though it was a curse, and Hermione guiltily realized that it was a more powerful variation of the heat charm. Griffins naturally didn't like intense heat because of the susceptibility of the membranes that made up their wings, if she recalled correctly. She only wished that she'd been able to remember that helpful bit of information a moment ago.

By the time she reached Malfoy, he'd already sunk gingerly to the ground, taking no pretense in hiding how much he favored his left shoulder.

"Malfoy, are you all right?" she asked as she dropped to her knees beside him, wishing there was a less stupid way of phrasing the question.

"Oh, don't worry," he gritted through his teeth, using a tone only a bare few notches above the whine she was all too familiar with, "If I wait a few more minutes I'll probably painlessly bleed to death."

She could have hit him then. Hard. And in the arm. His bad one.

"Oh, stop it," she folded her arms across her chest, mostly because she didn't know what to do with them, "You are such a faker."

"That was no hippogriff," Malfoy made a show of tenderly peeling his cloak away to examine the gash in his shoulder, "Shame the greasy oaf never brought one of those to class, huh? They're kind of related … to hippogriffs, I mean." He curled his lip in disgust as he fixed an incredulous look at her and raised his voice mockingly. "Oh, look out Malfoy! It's a griffin, it's a griffin!"

Hermione felt her cheeks hotly rebel on her.

"I swear you're so worthless," Malfoy continued, looking back down at his shoulder, "You just about got us both killed. I haven't seen more pathetic spells since Longbottom."

"If you're not going to—" she broke and abruptly lunged for his free hand, yanking it away from his shoulder. With her other arm she moved her wand towards the wound. "Let me at least—"

Malfoy recoiled from her like she was about to use the killing curse.

"Get away! Stop!"

"Oh, quit being such a baby!" she said, realizing how stupid it would look if she stopped now.

"Knock it off!"

She gave the best laugh she could muster in the hopes of lightening the repulsing mood directed at her. As she moved in closer, he tried to push himself away. "This will only take a minute if you hold still. Come on, it's not so—"

"No, stop it! Granger, I said stop!" Malfoy's voice was abruptly at a shout as he shoved her hand away. She noticed then just how angry he looked, and how stupid she felt. He glared at her as he straightened his rumpled cloak, so that it was like he had it before she'd touched it, she observed angrily. "Just stop it. What do you think you're going to do anyway? You're useless, remember?"

She stood up, wishing at that moment she could just disappear.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he had to always be like this, that he always had to be him. And it certainly wasn't fair that she felt so hot and uncomfortable under his glare. Only now did she self-consciously realize that her hands were covered with the blood from Malfoy's cloak.

She stared down at where it and the dirt were thick on her hands. In that moment it just seemed so futile, all of it. She probably couldn't even use her wand to remove it like Malfoy was now doing so easily.

He was watching her intently, almost hungrily. He was watching for her reaction. He wanted to see her break again, maybe even cry. That was all he had ever wanted from her. At school she'd always kept it from him. It had been easy then. But things were different now and far too much had happened. With a sinking dismay, she realized just how true that was. Their years at Hogwarts could only ever be memories now. That had been a time when Malfoy hadn't known how to hurt her. Now he did, and Harry and Ron weren't beside her anymore.

Looking almost disappointed, Malfoy turned to administer to his shoulder with his wand. She had to bite back on the incessant urge to correct his attempts. It hurt to admit that she probably couldn't perform the proper spells, but she could at least tell him which ones were the best to use.

That was what he wanted though, just another excuse. Just more fodder for his opinion of her. He hated her. She'd somehow forgotten that fact since they'd left the manor. The arguments they'd had out here had been no less bitter than before, but they had also just been a series of retaliations over the wrong words. At least that's how she'd thought of them. She supposed he hadn't.

"I can help," she blurted in a seizing moment of uncertainty. It sounded pathetically pleading even to her ears.

He didn't look at her, but gave a humorless laugh, as though he thought something else was funny. "You passed up the only way you could help anyone days ago, remember?"

She gaped at him for a moment, not comprehending. When she did, it was another moment before she could bring herself to believe that that was what he was talking about. She could only stare at him when the uncertainty had passed. He was wearing an oddly neutral expression.

She spun around, not having the capacity to think nor care about which direction she was heading. She just had to get away from Malfoy now. How could she ever have thought that she could tolerate him for any length of time?

She couldn't see anything. She was only barely aware that she was still walking fast. There was no urge to cry, just to get as far away from Malfoy as possible and never see him again.

"Hey—hey—Granger, you can't go that way—"

Her fists clenched and she stopped shaking her head when she realized that was what she was doing.

"Where are you going? If you go too far that way you won't be able to come back."

She would apparate to her safe spot, gather up what supplies she still had left there and—

"Granger, wait!" Malfoy sounded almost panicked now. "Wait a second!"

And then his hands were on her shoulders, trying to slow her down. It was a mockery of how someone trying to be gentle might have done it. Had he even ever touched her before?

"Stay away from me," she said as she struggled to pull away, alarmed at the frailty in her own voice.

"Wait, just listen to me," Malfoy's hold on her was becoming tighter, "Granger!"

"No," she mumbled, sick to death of him. Sick to death of everything. She didn't know if she could take any more of this. It seemed like she'd finally ran out of resolve.

"Listen!" Draco spun her around forcibly, taking hold of her shoulders and making her look at him. "I haven't meant that much, you know that don't you?" She tried to pull away again but his grip became desperate. "No—please … don't go. I don't want you to go."

"It's too late," she spat and pushed at his arms, but he pulled her closer.

"Please don't go …" his downcast eyes were moving frantically, "Please, Hermione—"

"Don't!" she screamed. "Don't say my name!"

He pulled away. "What can I do then? What can I do to make you stop?"

"You don't want me too!" She only now realized, from the way he was holding his arm, that she must have hit it at some point.

"Of course I do. If I didn't want you to stay I would've gotten rid of you a long time ago."

He was trying to reason. Draco Malfoy was trying to reason with her. She took a step towards him before she could stop. She had never hit anyone else besides him in her life. It was sort of ironic really. Admittedly she could claim to have been at her wits' end the first time, but what would that make this? Her problems in third year seemed laughable now in comparison.

"It doesn't matter what you want," she used all the self-control she still possessed and turned away again, "I can't believe you haven't figured that out yet! You're just—so—completely—" she stamped her foot on the ground in frustration, unable to deny that the thought of leaving, while appealing in some ways, made her remember just how terrible it was to be out there by herself.

She turned back towards him again, only to gape when she found that he was smiling, actually smiling at her. But why would he be smiling at her? There was nothing remotely funny about any of this. She certainly hadn't done anything funny.

He hid the smile quickly, but that still left her with no idea what to do. She could walk away. It would be simple in practice, and it would show him. That was probably what he had been smiling about; he probably thought that he knew what she was going to do. And he was just a miserable prat after all. That wasn't going to change. He was just going to keep saying horrible things, because he didn't care if they hurt her. There was also the nagging truth at the back of her mind that she really couldn't do much for him. She might even put him in unnecessary danger. But where would that leave her if she really did go away?

But despite all that, there was one truth that she knew, even past everything horrible he made her feel. She'd never known what it meant to be truly lonely before all this. And she never wanted to feel that way again.

Composing herself, she shot a smirk back at him. She couldn't show that he had affected her, not really. She knew that would only make things worse.

"So are you going to live or should I start writing your tragedy?" she asked, nodding curtly at his shoulder, unable to keep away a genuinely satisfied expression at how deftly she'd recovered things.

Malfoy was only startled for a second. "That's the Granger we all know and—well, know. Changed your mind so quickly?"

"I didn't changed my mind about anything," she snapped, but she was already feeling better at how easy this was. It was lucky that she hadn't actually said out loud that she was going to leave.

"Oh, right, and you were just getting some more exercise? I suppose you do need—"

"I just needed to get a breath of fresh air," she scoffed, "That happens a lot with you around."

Malfoy was nodding as if he wasn't listening, but he was half smiling again. He made his way over to the edge of the path and settled back against a tree. "I'll sleep better tonight knowing my little unemployed Mudblood is still with me."

"Does that mean we aren't going any further today?" she asked testily as she crouched beside him and reached to examine his shoulder. She glared him down when he tried to bat her hands away. Apparently all this effort had tired him beyond the capacity to resist further. Instead he leaned back and closed his eyes, settling on a disgruntled expression.

"Your skills of deduction are astounding," Malfoy winced slightly despite himself as she prodded a little too zealously just for that, "My everlasting sympathies automatically go to whoever winds up with you as their mother."

Given any circumstances it would've been a strange remark, but she supposed it was the closest thing to a civil conversation that they were going to have to settle for. Reminding herself how optimistic she'd been not so long ago, she frowned and wondered if this was reality's way of setting her straight.

In any case, she could've done without the griffin.


	10. Chapter 10

Malfoy predictably nursed his condition for all it was worth. She couldn't decide just how conscious the action was for him. In any case, she ended up doing all the work.

"You're just lucky that griffin was mental," Malfoy lounged back and idly kicked at the fire, sending up a sheet of sparks.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she huffed as she dropped another armload of extra firewood, which he'd languishly insisted on, close enough to his legs to force him to move slightly with a sour look.

But she found it difficult to complain beyond what was expected. Draco must have been more scared about her leaving than she had imagined, as hinted to by his maintenance of reasonably good cheer, at least by his standards.

"Griffins naturally attack weaker prey," Malfoy graced her with a haughty smirk, "Did you skip over that part when you read all about them?"

"I've been wondering about that," she murmured as she sank down opposite of him.

Malfoy's eyes glittered. "Been bothering you, hasn't it, the thought of a book letting you down? Probably nearly as badly as not knowing where we're going. I bet it's been tearing you up inside—"

"Probably not nearly as badly as it is feeding your horrible ego." She couldn't give him more than a vaguely amused frown, however. "But that's not what I meant. Even though it may not have seen me right away—it's funny that it didn't attack me first, isn't it? It seemed to be intent on you." She smiled ruefully. "It couldn't have been all that stupid then. But I do hope that it's okay—"

"That—_thing—_tried to kill us." Malfoy was looking at her disbelievingly.

"No," her smile rose imperiously, "It tried to kill you, remember? Someone might think that it had gotten pretty close to it if they listened to you for very long. Come to think of it, I think it's starting to grow on me. I mean it can't be all that bad if it was after just you—"

"—Besides being driven mad by malicious Death Eaters and then set loose to attack hapless travelers," Draco's disbelieving look had slipped somewhat.

"Well, there is that," Hermione laughed for a moment before drawing a deep breath, "But it was bleeding really awfully. Interesting choice of spell that you used."

"I'll have to thank Potter for it the next time I see him," Malfoy said, "But Snape has better ones than that."

"Oh, yes," Hermione said icily, "I forgot that you two were chummy."

Malfoy merely looked back at her.

_That's where the trouble always starts. _She mentally kicked herself. "But yes—it is odd though, isn't it? About the griffin I mean."

"Yes, we established that."

That effectively left her with nowhere to go. Sighing, she racked her brain for another less potentially volatile subject. She had never met anyone else in her life that made her worry so much about what to say, and that was when she knew what to say at all.

But why should she always have to think of what to say next? Ideally conversations between two people were supposed to go two ways. It wasn't as if she should need an ideal conversation just to talk to him. She all but adamantly believed that the very concept of an ideal conversation was impossible while Malfoy was involved in half of any tête-à-tête. In fact, the ideal conversation—

It hit her suddenly enough that she almost gasped. Luckily Malfoy didn't notice anything. But as she sat there, she couldn't help but wondering what was so … exhilarating about this thought. And why was it nearly enough to make her gasp? But it was exhilarating, almost to a worrying degree. She nearly started talking more than once before she could catch herself, and she had a light, heady feeling, almost as if someone was pulling her up by the collar of her cloak.

"What would it have done for you?" In actually saying it, she had to wonder where the sense of novelty suddenly went.

But the reaction couldn't have been more apparent. He'd been staring into the fire again with that vacant expression of his. She savored the way his attention jerked back to her. Initially he probably took it the same way she had.

"The Stone," she elaborated, mostly maintaining what she hoped was an innocent expression, "What would the Stone have done for you? We've spent all this time talking about me, but what about you? I don't know how much more of this brooding antihero act I can take. I know you were raised to drink muggle blood, but what could it hurt? You never really talk to anyone like that, do you? Well … you could pretend that I'm Moaning Myrtle, or something, just for a little while."

Smiling encouragingly after rambling on like that was probably closer to adding insult to injury than she could possibly understand. Malfoy's anger was hardly blatant, but his eyes dully flashed the further she went.

"Do you think you've got me figured out?" Malfoy bit out after a long pause. "Don't flatter yourself, you don't know the first thing about me."

Swallowing the all but overpowering urge to tell him that he was wrong, she decided it was best to keep the encouraging air. "How can I know if you never talk?"

"You don't want to know about me."

She nearly choked on the insufferable amount of bitterness in his voice.

She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't."

"_It's the same thing_," he mimicked her voice almost flippantly as he leaned back on his elbows, any signs of the anger he'd shown before already gone. My, he really was in a generally good mood. "Honestly, Granger. Just because you're tagging along doesn't mean that I want to get chummy." She felt herself blanch slightly before she could reason with herself that it was a perfectly innocent expression. "And just because you're asking doesn't mean that you really want to know. Well, I suppose you do—but I told you before, I'm not an Arithmancy problem."

"Where's your mother?" she asked softly at the question that suddenly came to her mind.

"Like you care," Malfoy sneered almost nonchalantly.

"Yes I do," she protested, but he only laughed.

This wasn't working at all. He was too far away, which made this so much more difficult. It was his turn to roll his eyes when she scooted around the fire closer to him. But he looked uncertain, almost threatened in a way that made her smile.

"You ask me questions, why can't you answer just one of mine?" she asked.

Malfoy snorted. "You've been asking questions the whole time."

"But this one I actually want you to answer."

"You didn't want the others answered?" Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

"Why do you have to be so enormously difficult about everything?" she groaned. "You're avoiding the question."

"And what exactly was it again?" Malfoy asked, donning his impersonation of innocence.

She took a long, calming breath as she looked down at him. The humor of this situation wasn't completely lost on her. Here she was trying to wrest another conversation out of Malfoy. It seemed like they took turns alternating who was trying to force the other to talk. Of course, like in all things that Malfoy was involved in, he'd already skipped several of his turns, but still …

She swatted at the annoying idea that he was posing, leaning back on his elbows like he was. Readjusting her expression, she pushed onward.

"What would the Stone have done for you if you had it?"

"Would it have done anything?" Malfoy gave a cynical smirk. "I'm beginning to suspect I have no luck. But maybe—if I had it—I'd be short one annoying, bushy haired harpy."

She couldn't help but smile at that. For a moment it was almost like the old Draco was back, the simpler Draco. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He looked back at her and noticed her smile. His followed with only the barest resistance.

"What would it have done?" she repeated, still smiling.

"Why don't you tell me?" He shifted slightly on his elbows.

"Me? Why?" She feigned confusion even though she saw where he was leading.

"You seem to know all about me, remember?"

"I didn't say that," she shook her head, finding even that small movement somehow all wrong, as though everything had muddled and slowed and she was disturbing it.

"More or less." He blinked almost languidly, as if he was under the same notion.

Was this how he acted around his friends—or his girlfriends? The pomp and the wit and the newly acquired bitterness were all there, but was he this—warm with others? Somehow whenever she pictured the Slytherin common room, muggle sacrificing and rituals to the Dark Lord always seemed to spring up. In that she supposed she was no more biased than Harry or Ron.

This was another rare instance when she not only remembered, but _felt_ that she was truly alone with Draco Malfoy. Staring as he was at her, he couldn't possibly have missed what this realization looked like on her face.

She scrambled to remember where exactly they were in their banter. That was always much easier to do with Ron. If she sat here long enough without saying something, he would no doubt get the wrong impression, if he hadn't already.

"Guess." He shifted his weight again on his elbows. Surely that couldn't be coincidental. But he surely wouldn't lean over. No, it was probably because of something innocent, like his arms falling asleep.

"I—uh," she had to fight to recall what he'd said. And what exactly did he find so funny that was worth smiling about? Draco Malfoy did not smile, or at least as usually as he seemed to be doing now. He had to be laughing at her. "That's not really a fair—I mean, I barely know—"

He laughed, and it took a moment longer than it should have for her to realize that he had leaned over onto his side. She nearly recoiled then, but she knew that would give exactly the wrong impression he was probably getting now. The only way to convince him otherwise was to ignore the fervent inclination to retreat to the other side of the fire again. Managing that was proving to be a commendable feat in and of itself, but she also had to fight to ignore the tingling in her fingertips and the way her breath had become hard to keep hold of.

"It doesn't have to be an essay, Granger. You don't have to be right about everything. Just—you know, guess." He said it in a way that made her wonder why it wasn't against some kind of law for a person to be so relaxed.

"I don't know," she was desperate now, "Maybe it would've helped to you to snog—" she needed no further proof that she wasn't thinking clearly, "No, I mean—" she paused as a new direction came to her, "Well, you were awfully friendly with the old hag."

"What?" his grin became confused for a moment.

"I bet the Stone would've helped you to get on the good side of … _her._" She put on an air of confidence that she was certainly a long ways from feeling. Though she was admittedly satisfied that she hadn't lost it completely.

"Who?" he asked suspiciously, as though he knew a lot of women that matched that description.

"Oh, you should know," she still had enough wits to cut her shaky laugh short. It was probably best not to risk that again. "You two have _everything _in common. Let's see here, you're both power-crazed, absolutely caught up in yourselves—"

He sniggered and she knew he had caught on. "That's low, Granger. Really low."

"I'm not the one who was eating out of her hand fifth year. Oh, Dolores Umbridge." She feigned a dreamy look off into space. After a moment she raised her chin and lowered a smug look down at the uncomfortable expression hanging at the edges of his face, "I didn't think anything of it before, but maybe there was something going—"

"Did they really kill the noble Gryfinndor in you?" Malfoy's eyes danced. "I do have some dignity, and standards—Mudblood."

"Oh, isn't Ginny just the cute little blood traitor for you?" Hermione flushed. "So she doesn't figure into your standards?"

Malfoy's face showed hesitation, and she had to fight against the urge to squirm under his examination. "I take it you're not on the best of terms with her either?"

"That's none of your business," she retorted.

"But you want to know mine?" Malfoy gave another smirk.

"It's just a simple question," she huffed as she hastily took advantage of the lull and scooted back a bit, pulling her legs up to her chest. "You make everything horribly difficult, you know that?"

"It's fun," his smile plainly said that he hadn't overlooked her withdrawal, "You should try it sometime—you know, fun."

"You're dodging the question again," Hermione said.

"And you're not?"

"You didn't ask a question,"

"Would you like me to?" he raised his eyebrows.

"This is exactly what I mean!" she groaned and threw her hands up.

There was a long pause before she looked back over to find Malfoy staring at her. And not just staring at her, but staring at her in a way that made the compromise in distance she'd just made seem paltry now.

"What?" she had meant to snap at him, but it came out far too neutral for her taste.

He shook his head after another moment, but he didn't look away—like he always did. "It's funny to see you like this."

"Like what?" she was annoyed at how self-conscious she suddenly felt.

He shook his head again, this time more confidant, this time meaning something by it. "Out of your element. So crazy."

"I am not crazy," she found herself smiling despite herself.

"I'd have to disagree," he broke and sat up on his knees, looking down on her.

That was all wrong. She had thought the logistics separated them, but now it seemed such a casual thing as he crossed the short distance, so natural. He made it that way. His eyes made everything seem so natural.

This had to be a game. There was no other explanation. Somehow he was using this, using her for something. Blinking furiously, as though that might help, she tried to remember what his mood had been like recently. That turned out to be ridiculously difficult, what with him advancing on her. She felt herself begin to panic; she hoped he didn't realize how close she was to bolting.

But what had she been trying to remember? His mood. Things had been going bad today, hadn't they? Yes, they'd fought worse today than they had ever. But could she really say that? Yes, this had hurt worse than it ever had. But that wasn't right either. It wasn't because of him, but the rather deplorable conditions she was being forced into. This was what she had chosen, though.

Why?

Thin wisps of a smile hung on his lips, and she lost her line of thought, coming back to remember that they'd also come to a series of understandings over the day. It had been such a long day.

"What?" she asked suddenly, completely at a loss about whether or not he'd said something. It seemed like he should have, but now his overt smile made her think otherwise. If only she could think.

"What what?" If he had been too close to her before, he was all but physically on top of her now, some compensation granted for her present over exaggeration. But still, if he didn't stop now, he was going to have to touch her at some point. Distractedly she tried to look down at the ground and figure out just when that would happen—if he didn't stop that is—which he was going to do, which he had to do.

"Hermione,"

Her eyes snapped up to his expectant ones.

"What?" she asked, finding it suddenly impossible to swallow.

"What?" he was laughing at her again, almost more warmly than she'd ever seen him, "You said what. What do you want?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she was already inching back away from him before she realized it. "And stop saying my name, it's just—" she nearly cringed at his raised eyebrows, "—Unprofessional, that's what it is."

"I don't think you've ever said my name."

It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying when he was talking so differently. So …

"There's a good reason for that," she managed.

His smile had frozen in a way that made her breath catch in her lungs, and for a long moment the only movement was the flighty excitement coursing through her blood, making everything shake slightly. Or maybe it was just her. And then she felt something brush against her knee.

He was already moving forward with it, but surely he couldn't have missed how she barely kept from jumping. Surely he could see how she tensed.

But it was his hand, lightly, almost reverently, resting on her knee. He was touching her. She had to fight to suppress the urge to recoil from it. It seemed so unreal, nothing like this could ever happen. But it was happening, and he was too close to her. She could hardly breath under his presence, and there was the expectant look in his eyes.

She might have mumbled something, but it was hard to remember. She couldn't recall getting to her feet, though it must have been fairly quickly. It was strange though, how she could perfectly picture the way his face fell in small increments, as if time had slowed down.

Her chest was hurting again, but this time it was different.

There was no way he could be doing … this with her. There had to be some underlying motive to it. That sounded familiar. Yes, of course, she'd thought it before.

_But what if that isn't true? _

That gave her pause, as did the place his expression had come to.

But no, it had to be true. There was nothing he could want with her. She had nothing to offer him, nothing that someone like Ginny could give so easily, or even that dim witted heifer. It wasn't fair, but that was how it was. Malfoy didn't want a nice girl, and she wasn't about to give him what he really wanted. Besides, she'd just be leading him along, giving him false assumptions about how things were between them. And it wouldn't be sensible to hinder how well things were going between them.

It wasn't easy to meet his eyes, and it was much harder than it should've been to smile, but she managed.

"I think I need to get some air." It was probably best if she kept the meaning to her tone, and though it was far shakier than she would've liked, Malfoy evidently got the message.

His face had fallen to a dark expression. In the moment it took for him to incline his chin slightly in what he had probably meant to be a nod, she couldn't have been more convinced that she had just adverted disaster.

But why did he have to be so angry?


	11. Chapter 11

The day's excitement made for a terrible night, and what little sleep she managed to find was filled with strange dreams she couldn't remember. She woke bleary eyed and nearly exhausted.

"Get up." That was how he greeted her, apparently already having been up for what looked like some time.

Things didn't improve from there. The headache that graced her took up residence just behind her right eye, and she found herself snapping at Malfoy almost without provocation.

"You know you're not fooling anyone," she said as she furiously rubbed at one side of her temple.

"What are you talking about?" His voice was all but dripping with homicide.

"You hardly ever eat, ever," she threw emphasis into the last word, "You can't keep this up forever. You have to eat something. Come on now, breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"Mind your own business," the momentary unease in his eyes was again replaced by the expression he'd been carrying all morning.

"You have to eat something," her voice was raising, "Don't be stupid, your eggs aren't actually half bad."

"I'm sorry," he rose to his feet, "Stupidity seems to run in my family."

With a flick of his wrist the contents of his plate fell into the fire. She was on her feet in an instant, but he was already walking away.

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"Malfoy, slow down!" she shouted after him as she stumbled over a root on the trail. "Don't be ridiculous!"

He didn't answer, nor did he slow his pace.

They had been doing this for what seemed like hours, but the sun belied that it couldn't possibly have been that long. In either case, she was running short on her admittedly already short reserve of patience.

"Malfoy!" she gritted her teeth and ran to catch up with him. "What is the matter with you?"

"Do you have a list handy?" he muttered acerbically without looking at her.

"Would you stop, please?" she yelled.

"Stop what?" he asked.

"Malfoy!" She grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him around. "Listen, I'm sorry about last night, but it's not like it was my fault!"

"What are you talking about?" He was speaking to her again like she was stupid.

"Don't be such a prat," she seethed, "Could we just walk normal for a change?"

"Don't—touch—" Malfoy sneered as he pulled her hand from his shoulder by the sleeve, "—Me. Ever. Understand, Mudblood?"

"Oh, and that's not what you were planning to do last night?" she asked scathingly, sorry that she couldn't make it sound more mocking.

"Is that what you wanted?" he leered, "Sorry you got the wrong impression, but I guess a slut has to get her fill somehow."

He didn't seem particularly surprised when her hand came up, though his own hand flew to his cheek to tenderly probe at where the angry red splotch was forming. Before she could do anything else he had caught the offending hand tightly, his fingers digging into her wrist and making her wince.

"Stop it," she ordered and tried unsuccessfully to pull away from his grip, but he didn't relent. His expression seemed to be frozen into half a sneer, as though he was enjoying what he was doing. She wondered why she didn't feel afraid at all because of this, but she adopted a plaintive tone, with some difficulty, as his fingers continued to dig into her skin. "You're hurting me."

"Is that how it is?" he whispered, glaring down at her with cold eyes. "You can do whatever you want to me but I'm not allowed to hurt you?"

It just fit so perfectly. It was as though she had always known he would say that, as though she had been waiting for those words for a long time.

"You—always—hurt me."

She gritted the words out slowly, leaking into them every bit of the anger and pain that was rising in her, reveling in how it felt to release them, but also feeling the beginnings of fresh tears burning at the corners of her eyes. Every bit of the anger and abhorrence that she could ever claim to have felt towards him was thrown into the words, hoping that it might break through his façade, if only just a little. Just for once, she wished that she could hurt him. Really hurt him. It was such a strong longing that she almost struck him again, but she didn't want it like that. She wanted to make him feel for only a moment what he gave her without qualm or hesitation. If she could have burnt him alive where he stood at that moment, without touching him, she would have so without remorse.

"But you don't care …" Draco said, his feeble voice and the way his sneer had fallen betraying his confusion.

"I don't care? I don't care?" Hermione shouted, not bothering to restrain her furious exasperation. "There are things about me that I can't change, even if I wanted to. No matter how hard I work or what I achieve, those things won't ever change! Do you have any idea what that's like? To constantly be labeled as something you have no control over?"

Draco was stirred out of his stillness, his eyes flashing momentarily and his mouth moving as though to say yes.

"No!" she screamed. "No! You have no idea what it's like! You miserable self-centered—selfish prat! You'll never understand what you do! I'm always the Mudblood and you're always the precious Pureblood. But what good has it done? Where has it gotten you? You always said that we were stupid, but what about you? You could never have any idea what it's like! Absolutely no idea! I—I hate you. I hate you so much."

She watched Malfoy's own anger rise throughout her tirade, as though he was waiting for her to run out of breath. She watched him fight to keep his composure, but when she stopped, struggling with her last words, he said nothing for several long moments. Their glare was absent of any trace of the pleasantries they'd carefully built up over the last few days. Hermione took the time to regain her breath, almost physically longing for him to deny what she had said so that she could attack him again.

"There's no need to regurgitate what we both know, Granger," he said at last, as though settling for those words instead of something else. He glanced down to where his hand was still painfully clutching her wrist.

"Let go of me," she forcibly tore her arm away, ignoring the pain, "Don't ever touch me again."

"Don't worry about that, I'm tired of dirtying myself with you," the words came automatically, but his expression didn't follow the sentiment. By looking at his face there would have been no way she could've known he'd spoken the words at all.

His face was frozen as before, but not with the same countenance. It was neutral, the complete opposite of a sneer and holding a haunting twinge that echoed in his eyes, and she knew that something she had said had fulfilled its purpose.

She tried to hide her own sneer from her face, but the indifferent attempt only twisted it, as though half hiding it only made it worse. Though she couldn't see it for herself, she watched it through the reflection standing before her; the revulsion she saw was all the confirmation she needed.

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The girl only hesitated for another moment before turning sharply on her heel and marching away. As though she thought it might spite the boy that watched her, she impulsively veered off the path and started into the woods. Though the boy's eyes remained on her retreating form, her gaze was downcast and her face a working mixture of emotions.

After several moments of this the girl's pace faltered slightly, a nearly uncontrolled glee overtaking her expression. She looked over her shoulder and didn't seem at all bothered that she was being watched.

"Just keep that in mind, Malfoy," she called back with a smile, one hand clutching unheeded at her neck, "Wouldn't want you to forget."

With almost a skip in her step the girl continued until she was lost to the boy's sight. But even then he remained there for a long time.

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He had set up camp again, not any farther along the trail from where they'd parted earlier that day. When she found him, he was leaning back against a tree with his feet near the fire while he stared into it. He must not have heard her approach. Only after she cleared her throat did he jump slightly and see her.

Immediately he rose to his feet, and then looked as though he wished he hadn't. She shifted her weight almost nervously and worked her hands together, but remained silent. His expression was equally hesitant, but not nearly as neutral.

"I—uh," he cleared his own throat, "I thought you were going to leave."

"Well," her eyes darted off to the side and she fidgeted again, "I was going to … but I changed my mind."

He offered a careful nod. "That's good … I'm sorry … I really am. For … everything."

Her nod wasn't nearly so certain, but the hesitation passed as an airy briskness overtook her. "That's good, Malfoy. I'm sorry too."

"You shouldn't be," he looked down at the ground frowning, "When I said that—"

"—I understand, Malfoy," she interrupted quickly, "But there's something you should—um, see."

"What?" he glanced up at her.

"I found something that I want to show you," she gave him another smile. "When I was away—off."

"Okay," he said slowly. "But I really do want to—"

"Oh, don't be such a git," she continued to smile but she shifted her weight again, "I know. But come on, we have to go see it now."

"I—what is it, though?" he frowned again.

"Well—it's a surprise, of course," she had already turned, "If I tell you it'll ruin it. Now hurry up and I'll show you."

"But Granger," he started, but she was already hurrying away. Looking back at the camp, he opened his mouth as though to say something, but changed his mind and ran to catch up with her.

She led him off the trail and further into the woods, where the shadows were beginning to deepen. When the boy lit his wand, it helped somewhat, but the girl was running so quickly that it nearly made no difference.

"Wait," he said as he caught up to her, "Slow down."

"We have to hurry," she answered breathlessly, "There's not a lot of time."

"But what is it?" he asked as he stumbled slightly, "It can't be all that important if it's out here."

"Wait and see," she was still smiling, but whether it was because of the darkness, or something else, she didn't look back at him.

"Can't I have a hint, just a vague clue?" he said with a trace of humor, but if he was expecting her to answer in kind, he was to be disappointed.

"No," she said simply, as though it was unsafe to say even that much.

Several more minutes of this followed, their pace slowing perceptively as they went. The boy tried to talk to the girl a few more times, but she stayed silent. Eventually she adopted an air of looking for something.

"We're getting close," she finally said as she came to a stop.

He looked around suspiciously, but didn't say anything immediately. "Which way is it?"

Her smile was back again. "Oh, yes. Now I remember. Just a little further. But you're going to have to close your eyes."

"Close my eyes?" His amusement was still present, but it was giving way to something else.

"Uh … yes."

Maybe he chose to ignore the waver in her voice, but he did as she said and stumbled forward slightly in the direction she indicated.

"Granger?" he asked hesitantly when she didn't follow. His voice suddenly grew sharp. "Granger?"

"Petrificus totalus!"

The spell hit him as he was whirling around towards her. His arms and legs snapped together, and for a moment he swayed stiffly before falling backwards to the ground. The way he came to be laying left him with a limited field of vision, but his eyes snapped around and strained to see the girl as she moved beside him. For a moment she leaned over close enough that their eyes locked. She flinched at the contact and immediately looked away. For another moment she ran a hurried, but critical inspection over him.

"I was afraid that I wouldn't be able—" she muttered to herself before glancing back at his eyes as though remembering that he could still hear her. Taking a deep breath and drawing herself up, it took what appeared to be an effort to look him in the eye, though her own eyes couldn't seem to completely help themselves from wandering. "This is nothing personal. I hope you understand that. But this is—"

Her gaze grew excited again and her efforts to keep a corresponding smile from her face didn't altogether succeed. "This is what we both want, after all. It will be better this way. You'll be safe with the Order, even if they hold you as a prisoner. But you'll be out of harm's way, out of the war … and that's what you want, after all. And—well, this will be best for both of us. Now to make it look … just a little … bit …"

She pulled away from his sight for a moment, a frown of consideration creasing her forehead as she idly tapped her wand around in the air. On what appeared to be a whim, she muttered something and pointed it down at him. It took only the barest space of time for his visible skin to flush a scarlet so bright that it shone beneath his hair, even in the gloom.

"They'll like that," she muttered with a shaky laugh. But she stood motionless for a long time before she frowned again and reversed the spell so that he returned to normal. "I hope you understand. It's a simple thing really." She carefully inched forward until he could look at her again, but she pulled away when his eyes jerked back towards her. Another minute passed, with her uncertainty hardening into a stormy expression the longer she stared down at him. When she spoke again the indecision was gone.

"I won't be away long. Don't worry, I won't let your precious blood wallow in the dirt for long … just keep it in mind, Malfoy. Unless I'm very much mistaken, you asked for this."

And then with a turn she marched out of his sight entirely. A few seconds later and the sharp crack of apparation echoed through the woods.

The boy was left motionless in the darkness. It didn't take long before the sounds of the forest began to reemerge, until it wasn't clear that anything out of the ordinary had happened at all.

**AN: **The confrontation portion of this scene is probably the most important part of the entire story because, besides the opening scene, this is what the rest has been most influenced by.


	12. Chapter 12

Just watching him was a dull affair, but it no doubt gave him plenty of time to think, as there certainly seemed to be plenty now for him to think about. His eyes remained opened and occasionally started at various noises. The time passed slowly, and from time to time his eyes would close altogether, until a fresh sound would jerk them open again.

He was there a long time before he had cause to be awake.

At first his alertness began to waver after several seconds of silence passed following what had presumably jerked him awake. But the sound of another stick cracking underfoot caused him to strain to locate the source with the limited range his eyes were afforded. The sounds came hesitantly, which probably wasn't comforting to whatever his imagination had running through his mind.

But eventually he ascertained the correct direction the sounds were coming from, and the vague outline of the girl stepped into his view. Or that was probably what he hoped the vague outline was, but a tiny sniffle eventually came as confirmation.

They were like that for a long time. Only the occasional small sound from the girl belied that they were there at all. Eventually the girl evidently finished whatever she was contemplating and muttered what must have been the counter curse, because the boy's body jerked sharply and then rolled over. In the time that it took him to take several deep gasps of air, and cough out whatever had been sitting at the back of his throat for the past several hours, the girl had quietly sat down on a nearby log and placed her hands in her lap. Her face was all but impossible to distinguish in the darkness, but her posture had an erect air to it.

"Turned you down," the boy eventually managed in a raspy voice before coughing again, "Did they?"

She may have nodded, but remained silent in any case. The boy was left to awkwardly peer at her through the darkness.

"Did you even talk to them?" he asked, as though he couldn't take the silence any longer. His voice was strained, but it was neither angry nor any other significant emotion.

"Yes," the girl said in a faint voice, unable to completely hide the brittleness, "I spoke with Harry."

The boy let out a sigh, as though the news dismayed him as well. Slowly, no doubt due to stiffness, he let himself sink back to his elbows. There was another pause, though different this time.

"I always knew that you were sorted into the wrong house," the boy said.

The reaction was immediate.

"Don't say that!" the girl wailed and threw her hands into her lap. Suddenly the hints grew to pained sobs, and even in the darkness her shoulders could be seen shuddering. Though it was impossible to see her expression, how her eyes were rimmed with red and how she rolled her wand around in her hands as though it would comfort her, she could be seen through her sobs. The sounds grew unnaturally high when she tried to fight it, and she gasped shakily when she could fight no longer.

The boy sat up, but it wasn't a confident movement. He stopped there, as though uncertain of what to do.

Her sobbing continued for several minutes as the wind moaned overhead. It was completely hopeless the way she cried. It was as if all the feelings she'd had all this time had finally broken through the careful façade she'd been wearing. There was a bitterness to it, but perhaps it was the utter abandon, the despair that made the boy shift uncomfortably.

But as the minutes passed it subsided and changed.

"I was so happy," she started in a shaky voice, with what might have been an effort, "When I first came to Hogwarts, everything was just so wonderful. It was just so … perfect. But—" her voice caught for a moment, "Some things were still the same. I—nobody—nobody liked me. It was just like before. No matter how hard I tried. Not Harry … or Ron. You wouldn't even talk to me." She tried to laugh. "But then they helped me … and everything was better after that. Even after all the horrible things that would happen each year, everything was always fine in the end. They were _my_ friends. Do you understand what that's like? They were mine, my friends."

Her voice had risen, but the boy gave no response.

"But then—then I ruined it. I ruined everything. I thought—I _knew_ what Harry wanted. Especially after that year … he was so angry about everything. He was just so worried about everything that he just had to see it. It would've made things better. It _did_ make things better. But I was … wrong. I thought everyone would understand, that _they_ would understand. But … everything …"

She broke off and the boy raised himself slowly to his feet. She didn't seem to notice.

"It's just so wrong … everything has gone so absolutely horrible."

He was beside her before she gave a slight jump. When he sat down next to her, they were close enough that their hips touched. For a long breath they were both still. He kept close to her, but his hands lay folded in his lap and from his faintly luminescent hair it could be ascertained that he was looking upwards. He didn't move as she continued to cry. Whether his presence comforted her couldn't be said, but her sobs had changed again to something quieter.

And perhaps the boy felt what was obvious. Perhaps it even bothered him.

Perhaps the girl wished that he would do something more.

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She was different the next morning. That was to be expected, of course. Her behavior always changed after one of their spats, as he had come to unconsciously call them in his mind.

He had spent a good majority of the time just being thankful that she hadn't apologized about it. Just thinking about apologizing back to her was enough to make him cringe. Once had been hard enough, but that didn't mean he wasn't sorry. He was, and so was she. It was enough that they both knew it.

She didn't say much the next morning, about anything really. He was still extremely stiff from the night's escapades. It was that and all the other little factors he couldn't keep track of in his mind, no matter how hard he tried, that had led to something he'd never even thought could possibly happen.

It was an innocent thing. Certainly it would no doubt seem that way to anyone else, but he couldn't suppress all the possibilities that even the barest thought of it made him imagine, all the possible explanations. He didn't know for certain, but it would probably be no big deal to other people. He'd definitely seen it happen among the three of them innocuously enough when he had watched—countless times, now that he thought about it. That had always managed to conjure an uneasy feeling in his stomach. But that was nothing compared to the empty feeling now reminding him that there'd been a time when the most pressing thing he had to worry about was watching what the Golden Trio did at school.

If he hadn't barely been able to get to his feet when he woke, if she hadn't been disinclined to say anything, if basically either of them had been in any other kind of mood, or if it had been at any other point during their rocky period of knowing each other, it would never have happened.

When she'd looked down to find him struggling just to sit up properly, he had meant to say something cheeky to cover up just how badly he was hurting, even though what he really felt like doing was asking her to help him up, abrasively if possible to ease the required swallowing of pride.

What had come out of his mouth had turned out to be neither cheeky nor abrasive. In fact it'd turned out to be nothing. He may have gaped slightly, but he liked to think that he'd merely looked up at her. Truth be known, he had no idea what he'd looked like at that moment. He had been too busy being held by the sight.

Her hair had been crazy. Big surprise there. But it had been crazy in a way that he couldn't easily categorize. He'd developed what he had believed to be a foolproof system of categorization in third year, back when potions had been so utterly easy and almost boring. She'd been harried that year.

But her hair had been different this morning. It had somehow flowed into her expression, so calm and collected, but only in a way that belied what had happened only a few short hours ago.

Maybe it was really something mundane to her. But she'd evidently seen his plight and hadn't needed him to ask.

When he had taken her offered hand at the time, he'd put no immediate thought into it. But as he'd found footing on his mutinous legs, he'd also found himself marveling at what he held. He wasn't given much time, for she pulled it away as soon as she saw him on his feet.

His thoughts on Hermione Granger had always had plenty of other outlets to dwell on and her hands had never come up. Certainly her wand had, not the least of when she had it pointed at his face. But he had never really thought about her hands.

Even though his thoughts more or less had come after she had released his hand, the lingering sensation of how small they were had surprised him in stages. They were small and round, not necessarily delicate, but still slight in size.

She'd turned away from him, leaving his memory alone to scramble after what he had felt.

Though the contact had been brief and business-like, it hadn't been difficult to also note how soft they were. Certainly books had never done injury to them, but he marveled at how tender they felt, even to his own fairly soft hands.

And they were warm. So warm in fact, he was surprised she didn't recoil at how cold his were. It hadn't even occurred to him before, but now he realized that his hands were ice cold. Hers was a gentle presence that caused him dismay at just how cold he was.

Fortunately for the both of them, her business-like attitude had also extended to her turn, so she'd missed the late blooming embarrassment evident on his cheeks at these revelations.

He had no idea how long all of that had lasted. Each time he tried to remember, the sense of time seemed to change, but he knew it couldn't possibly have been much longer than a few seconds.

It wasn't healthy, he just knew it wasn't. Forcing himself to think of the same thing, over and over again from every possible angle, through every singular possibility, was not what someone should do for a pastime. And yet the more this worried him, the harder it was to attempt to put his mind somewhere else. Their present situation certainly didn't provide many noteworthy distractions.

She'd been slowly but surely driving him crazy since they'd formed their happy little band. And not just with what she said. It wasn't so much that at all. It was what she didn't have to say, what she communicated naturally, and no doubt unconsciously, through other means. Granted, being subjected to prolonged exposure to any girl of pleasant physical attributes would probably be enough to drive him crazy at this point.

He had to physically shake his head at that.

Hermione Granger wasn't like that at all. She was no shimmering beauty, she wasn't even that good looking. Rather plain, if you asked him. Plain, but different. That was admittedly true. Everything about her had to be different and annoyingly fascinating. Her face was pretty and her other qualities decent, but that didn't change the facts. So theoretically it should've been a simple thing just to think about something else. Theoretically, he should've had no business heatedly debating over whether plain was too harsh a word—for hours on end.

But in the end, pretty or plain, he didn't want to stop thinking about the incident from this morning, which he was going to refer to it as until he could think of a better name. No matter what he had promised himself before, no matter what he still probably believed, the last thing he wanted to do was stop. It may have been pathetic. He was perfectly willing to admit that, but the truth was it made him feel something.

He would've liked to picture himself as unfeeling, numb to everything that was going on, but he couldn't lie about that. He felt everything, and there was so much to feel. It wasn't hard to push the feelings away, to keep them under the surface of his awareness, like he'd always done, though the dull aches that festered were almost worse. But what else could he do?

It wasn't his fault, it was hers. Before, he'd been doing such a good job of distancing himself, even with her around, but his resistance had been slowly wearing away.

Lately, in his mind, he'd been idly mapping out the major points undermining said resistance, chronologically of course. No matter how much time that diverted, however, he knew it had really been her smile that had undone it all.

The previous morning, after he'd admitted to not remembering what had happened the night before, she had smiled. And Hermione Granger didn't just smile, Hermione Granger had to beam. It was that relentless smile of hers. On a historical note, it had once been the bane of her social existence, of which he could proudly claim some credit for. That was before the rest of her face had caught up with her front teeth. That still puzzled him, how they seemed to have fixed themselves overnight. Maybe she had something done to them, but that didn't seem to fit. She was the kind of girl that didn't go to grueling measures just for her appearance. She wasn't like the others.

But no, Hermione Granger made him feel something. She made him believe, if only in momentary spurts, that everything he felt didn't have to hurt. That would've been enough reason alone.

She was so naïve in a lot of ways. Sometimes he knew it would have been easy to just forget her if she wasn't like that. But she was.

What she had done last night had surprised him a little, though frankly he should have seen it coming. But it didn't make him angry, not in the least bit. That surprised him, but only just a little. Others might have been furious had they been in his position, probably including her two blokes, but that would be their fault. They didn't know her, but he did.

Pathetic? He drew his brows together and sneaked a glance back at her. It was a safe risk as her eyes were still trained on the ground. Maybe plain _was_ too harsh a word.

And yes, maybe he was a little pathetic. But his present conditions nearly demanded that of him. Sometimes it was so hard to remember that no one was watching him anymore. His audience had dwindled substantially, from practically the whole school to one solitary, bushy-haired Mudblood. That was if she even cared at all how pathetic he was. There may have been something ironic in all that.

Holding her hand for a few seconds hardly measured up to some of the other things he'd done, but this was different. To other people it might've been pathetic to obsess over something so mundane, but that was okay. He didn't care what they thought anymore. It was too late in any case. It may not have been special to them, but it was special to him.


	13. Chapter 13

"We'll circle around."

He couldn't remember what else he'd said. It had taken him a moment to get her attention, but it only took her a moment to take in the situation.

He'd almost missed the house himself. The surroundings were thinning out foliage wise, but it would be entirely too easy to stumble into someplace inhabited while he wasn't paying attention. This house wasn't very large and there were no signs of people, but there was no sense taking chances.

"Staying just off the trail? Below it I mean?" she asked quietly, already following him off the trail.

The trail was still raised enough that it was a simple enough matter to get off to one side and keep down while they walked past the building until it was out of sight.

Those were some of the only words that either of them spoke to each other for the morning. It was, oddly enough, probably the most cordial silence that they'd ever enjoyed. But that wasn't what was presently occupying his thoughts.

It was in moments like those that he was guaranteed a good mood. True, those moments were rare indeed. Sometimes years went by between them. Usually they'd happened at school, whenever he would find something new to hang over scar head. Predictably the two dimwits would rarely catch on immediately, but she usually did.

Once he'd loudly joked about bad test scores in Potions when Potter had gotten a horrible grade. The whole thing had backfired as Potter had hid it before anyone else could see it, but she had immediately known what Draco was talking about. He could tell.

No matter what his official verdict on Hermione Granger happened to be at the time, changing as it always was, he couldn't help but think in those moments that they shared a sort of connection. Wishful thinking or not, completely ridiculous or not, there were times when she seemed to understand him immediately. Though that always had the propensity to be quite scary, because she often employed it against him, he couldn't help but give into the rush that it always gave, even if only for a little while.

But wishful thinking was all that was, all that it could ever be. There was nothing between them and there never would be. He doubted she would ever even consider him as a friend, and that was fine by him. He didn't like her, not really. And given the way her mind worked, she no doubt looked at him a lot like she might at a slab of meat that might provide her next meal. Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best comparison, but he knew that she cared about him only as far as he could provide for her intentions, whatever those might be.

But he couldn't say that it was easy to ignore her.

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He didn't know where to go. That had been a recurring fact rattling through his mind for the past six days, ever since he'd thrown his lot in with the bushy haired ball of trouble. Even before they'd left the manor this had been a very disturbing flaw in his plan, which made it not much of a plan at all, he guessed. Sure they had the Traveler's Path, but he had no idea where it was leading them. He tried to keep a vague idea of a destination in mind, occasionally switching it, but there was always the nagging feeling that they were still heading for the same place, almost as if they were being led. He didn't know if that idea came from hearing something like that somewhere, or if it was just his imagination. In any case, he couldn't do much more than hope that the path was safe. The griffin had evidently happened onto it by chance. That was a granted danger anywhere now though, given the kind of things the Death Eaters were releasing to spread chaos.

Leach, the griffin—only two occurrences, but it still seemed like she was a magnet for trouble. Both times she had come out mostly unscathed, which was more than a little peculiar, especially with the griffin. He hoped he wasn't letting on how confused he still was that it hadn't so much as looked at her. In fact, there had been moments when it had seemed like it had been purposely ignoring her. Much as he'd like to write it off and move onto more pressing matters, something about that bothered him, even more than their lack of direction did.

He wondered if she had moved past what had happened during the first encounter. It was hard to tell how much Leach's attempt had affected her. He guessed that she probably tried not to think about it, but he doubted that she'd completely gotten over it. Technically not a lot had happened, but it certainly had been more than enough.

When he tried, suddenly it was hard to swallow. For the rest of his life, the barest thought of those few minutes would probably do that to him. He still remembered how damp the air had been, how it had pressed and smelled. How everything had moved in a haze, but still happened so fast.

His fingertips were tingling and he balled his fists, throwing a glance back at her, but it wasn't as if she was going to miraculously pick up on his mood. He was just letting his irrational fears get the better of him.

A few shuddering breaths and the pulsing thoughts that always followed had mostly abated. They'd become worse since he'd discovered how weakened she was.

In that moment, back in the forest when Leach had been casually offering him something that drove excitement through his veins, running away was, for once, not the easiest thing to do.

It would've been so simple. They certainly would've thought no differently of him. The act itself wouldn't have made them respect him anymore than they did now, maybe even just the opposite when they whispered about him, but she was Hermione Granger. It would've been something for them to trumpet, whether or not she was still friends with the glorious Harry Potter.

He had told her he would have never helped Leach. Maybe he never would've, but at the time that thought hadn't stopped him from feeling the horrible thrill, the possibility that had made his blood boil. That hadn't stopped him from assessing how easy it could've been, to take what he'd been told all of his life that he couldn't have, what he had dreamed about in secret for so long. And to take it in the way he was expected, to finally show them what he could do.

But no matter how basely stirring it'd been to see her on the ground like that, frantically fighting, no matter how hard it had been to pull away from the possibility, he couldn't stop that horrible feeling in his stomach.

It made him feel sick to think that some mere guilty feeling was why he'd made the hardest choice of the three. He'd like to think that there was more to it, more than just what he thought of her along with some instilled sense of guilt.

She was a person, and no one deserved that. It wasn't right. Even given the way everything else had blurred together these past few months, seeing her eyes like that, like he never wanted to see again, made right and wrong become clear for the first time in a long time.

It was hard to remember what it had been like to truly judge her by the social standards he'd been brought up by. To be honest, their years at school were blurring together, no matter how hard he fought it. Sometimes he would just lay awake at night, trying to sort and categorize them, going by the significant events that had marked their passing. Actually he'd been doing that a lot lately. It was something to take his mind off of other things, off of her.

But he didn't think he could keep this charade up much longer. He longed to ask her where she thought they should go. She'd have some kind of idea—an excessively educated opinion at the very least. She said she never would have been able to come up with something like a Traveler's Path. As pleasing as that was to think, he wished above anything else to hear where she wanted to go. It didn't have to be anywhere important. He'd almost asked her enough times that he was getting remarkably good at covering up his choked off questions.

But if he asked that, she would figure everything out. She figured everything out eventually. Her guessing about Ginny honestly scared the Bubotuber pus out of him. Granted, he'd been drunk and had probably let slip more than his memory could account for, but still. Even the usually pleasing notion that they shared some kind of special connection didn't even begin to account for something like that.

He knew she would figure out their lack of a destination eventually. Then what would she think of him, leading her around pointlessly for days on end, practically getting them both killed? She'd probably leave for good then. He still had no idea why she hadn't yet. Giving into the persistent hopes that that fact conjured wasn't an option for him. No, she'd think him about as intelligent as Longbottom if she found out. And that was only if his present luck held.

Things were different now between them, though. He had no idea how or by how much, but it was clear that a change greater than anything before had come over them both. It would probably be wise for him to at least test the waters while it was present, if not push it for what it was worth. If he'd known before, during some of their previous spats, that getting her to scream that she hated him would make her this docile, he probably would've had her doing it every other day.

Firmly reminding himself that she had not screamed it, to little improvement in his disposition, he let his eyes move cautiously back to where she was still walking with her gaze following the ground. He pursed his lips.

_She did not scream it._

As slow as they had both been walking, it took only a few steps for her to come up beside him when he nearly stopped. He matched her pace and wondered if she really hadn't noticed him or if she was faking it.

"Hey." It sounded almost friendly, almost like he was greeting some other person he hadn't seen in a long time.

She glanced up and over at him with enough surprise on her face for him to be assured that she hadn't been faking.

"Hey." It was a small and tentative voice.

"Do you want to talk?" It was an easy enough sentence; keeping the look of absolute dismay off his face wasn't quite so easy.

"Why?" Less tentativeness, more suspicion.

Okay, he could do this. He could. He was Draco Malfoy, and she was Hermione Granger. Just let the etiquette flow.

"Doesn't something happen if you go so long without talking," cue strategically selected smirk, "You randomly combust? World implodes? Your hair straightens out? You know, something generally perceived to be impossible."

"Why?" she repeated.

"Well …" he stalled, nearly panicking. He of course didn't panic, but at the moment he was doing a fairly good impression of it internally. In regards to her question he had no idea why. Well, he did, but there was no way he was going to tell her.

"I'm just thinking after your well-being." There, that wasn't so bad. Talking with her always felt much harder than it actually was in practice. Not that they'd ever had a lot of practice with it.

"That's comforting," she answered seriously enough, but he thought he caught traces of a thin smile.

_Okay, the water is warm. _

"Actually," he said, already feeling his momentum building with his confidence, "I have no idea what to talk about presently. I was thinking that since I've been neglecting my duties lately as host, I would open up the floor to you. Bear your soul out at will, Granger, talk about whatever you want. We've got all the time in the world, after all."

"That's weird, you seem to be in a good mood," she was definitely allowing a thin smile now.

"No—more of a chatty mood than anything. Maybe you're starting to rub off on me," he faltered slightly at boxing himself into that choice of words, which conjured up admittedly hilarious images of static electricity and … other things, "But seriously. I'm all ears, Granger. Get it while you can. Say anything you'd like. Like … if you could go anywhere, where would it be?"

He watched in passive horror as days of painstaking effort went down the drain. Fortunately, however, she didn't seem to catch on to the implications within the question.

She was quiet for a moment, staring at something ahead of them. "Aren't you still angry though? I mean—about everything?"

"Everything?" he asked cautiously, though he knew what she was talking about. "I … guess so. Sometimes. It comes in spurts—I guess. But this isn't about me, this is your time, Granger."

Her smile was more wistful. "I imagine you'd think anything I'd have to say would be boring."

"What?" That was a genuine exclamation. He couldn't imagine anything about her being boring, and he told her so. He was probably a slightly biased opinion on that subject though. But he needed a recovery for such an out of character remark. "I mean … I don't think anyone in our kind of circumstances could be considered boring."

"Maybe." She gave a slightly happier looking smile at that.

She nearly caught him staring at that happier looking smile a few seconds later. When he had to turn away he all but stammered, and said the first thing that came to his mind. Fortunately, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been.

"I don't know where we're going."

It was almost soothing to get it out, maybe even therapeutic, in a nerve-grinding sort of way.

She didn't say anything immediately, but her eyes predictably weren't wide with surprise for long. A few moments later and out of the corner of his eye he caught the way she inclined her chin, which probably was meant to be a nod.

Just thinking about asking her where she wanted to go again made his stomach squirm. Maybe later.

He was nearly at the brink of a disappointment overdose by the time a solid minute of silence went by. They couldn't stop now. This was almost fun—in a nerve-obliterating sort of way.

"Malfoy …"

His heart was suddenly beating very quickly.

She hesitated, as though she had expected him to answer. "I don't want to fight anymore."

He looked over at her, but she steadily refused to take her eyes off the path ahead.

"That may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Granger," he replied almost as quietly.

She had to give him a rueful look for that. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He didn't smile back, but instead gave his best steady expression to show her that he was indeed being serious. "And I … I don't want to fight anymore either. I mean, at least not like usual."

She smiled softly, nodded, and looked back down at her feet.

"It's just so …" he said, although he knew he never should've started it. While it was a simple enough concept, he was suddenly not sure if he wanted to share it with her. That was if he could get it across without sounding completely dumb.

"What?" she asked after a few seconds.

"—Hard." He settled on that word, still gesturing slightly with his hands.

"What is?" she pressed patiently.

He laughed as he tried to wave his hands around to encompass everything. "This. You. But not really you, it's …"

And then she was looking straight at him, her eyes so bloody inquisitive and still patient.

"I think that—" he found it was easier to think while pretending to examine his hands, "Sometimes it's … hard, to remember that no one is watching."

He caught the tail end of her understanding look.

"Everything's really different now, isn't it?" she said.

Everything culminated into a weary sigh. "Yes, it is."

But he knew that things could be much worse.


	14. Chapter 14

"But that's the whole point," she insisted with a laugh, "To make sure that the results don't balance themselves out. The mixture will turn out absolutely terrible if you were to go about it like that."

"I used to do that all the time." He smirked. "And it always worked. Sometimes following the directions isn't the best way to go about something."

She was silent for a moment, chewing on her lip. But the lull naturally didn't last long. "And how has not following the directions gone for you? Rather brilliantly, if I might say so."

That was enough justification for another laugh. He restrained himself, however. At the rate he was laughing, she was likely to think him a blithe idiot, but it was her fault that it was so easy to laugh around her.

"Oh, I followed directions just fine." He replied sarcastically.

"The _wrong _directions." She said, nearly slipping into that bossy tone of hers.

He pretended to sniff haughtily. "It's not my fault that you've never had the problem of choosing between which directions to listen to. But what about your blokes? You break the rules with them all the time."

"Well—" she said, sounding slightly taken aback, "You make it sound so awful. We only break rules when we have to, when something bad might happen if we don't."

"You _broke_ the rules," he corrected her choice of tense regarding her friends, eliciting a relatively good-natured scowl from her, "But correct me if I'm wrong, I didn't think that was how it worked. So you get to choose which rules you can break?"

"I—no." Hermione frowned. "That's not—"

"Of course not." He wasn't really in a bad mood. So it was a little odd that this little tirade should come out now. He'd been rehearsing it rather heatedly in his head for years now. "But that's how it is. It happens nearly every single year. Wouldn't be the same at all if it didn't happen. You and the delectable Duo go off, break every rule you can set your hands on, and then proceed to save the day. All to the applause of the old man and the entire school. All nice and tidy and perfectly nauseous. It's all just one grand adventure for all of you. And everyone loves it. Sure, I suppose there might be a few fleeting moments of dilemma, but it all works out in the end. Everything fits so neatly into place, and you all come back together. Every single time. Don't you?"

"I hope so," she said softly, looking down at her feet again. "And I think you do too."

"Either way …" he trailed off, not really wanting to go there.

"If I'd known you had felt so strongly about it, I would've invited you."

And she looked so serious about it too.

This was the kind of laugh he couldn't dream of holding back. "I guess it's true that humor is best when it's unintentional."

"I suppose it would've been kind of funny," she admitted, "Think of what they would've said …" and she broke off in a giggle.

_They _was a pretty broad term, but he didn't have any trouble laughing along with her.

She stopped after a minute, drawing a breath and regaining a somber tone. "But it's not like that at all, you know. Not when it's happening. Some of the things were just—and it's not as if you know what it is when it's happening. It's hardly as if you have time to stop and say this is all one grand adventure, is it?"

"I wouldn't know anything about it."

She looked at him almost sadly. "Who knows, maybe this is one of those times."

That was enough to make him want to look anywhere else, to pretend he hadn't heard her.

It was strange how he thought, in that second, that it would be a perfect distraction if he were to see someone walking towards them on the path. Because of this, he thought at first that he was imagining things.

She had started talking again at some point, and he had to gesture with his hand to get her attention.

"There's someone coming." He murmured, almost as much to confirm it to himself as to warn her. He missed whatever her reaction looked like as he strained to discern the lone figure coming towards them, though from this distance he couldn't make much out anyways.

"Should we run?" She whispered it in a way that made him smile.

"No. Just act normal."

"But what if he's—"

"Just act normal."

She of course didn't exactly act normal, but he supposed it didn't really matter. As the man came closer, Draco slowly worked out that it was an older man from the style of the cloak. That didn't mean much. He could still be dangerous. They could be walking into a Death Eater trap for all they knew.

But he couldn't work any other emotion above the melancholy that had suddenly overcome him. The cause of it could've been any number of things. Maybe it was the thought of the adventures that they'd been talking about a moment ago, or how she didn't think of them as he thought she might. Or maybe it was because this was the first time he really had any genuine doubt that she would eventually be forgiven by her friends. After all, that's what they were supposed to do; he'd certainly watched it happen enough times before. But suddenly he wasn't so certain.

Or maybe it was because the sight of the first person they'd seen in nearly a week, an older man strolling almost casually towards them, made him realize that they were still just two kids traveling together. No matter what he wanted or liked to think most of the time, that's what it came down to. The childish bickering, the childish thoughts—the childish indecision. Melancholy was the only word for what he felt in that moment.

The man smiled when they had gotten close enough for that. He had a crinkly, weathered sort of face and a grandfather sort of smile.

When he came to a stop, they cautiously did the same.

"Beautiful day," the man's eyes rose to the sky, "Don't get many of those anymore."

"No, I suppose not." Malfoy said as friendly as he could. He guessed the other man wasn't big on traditional greetings.

"I don't normally see people here." The man's eyes moved over to Hermione.

Resisting the temptation to do the same, to see what she was doing, Draco let the older man continue.

"Actually, I didn't think many people knew about this Path. It's old, you know." He gave a soft laugh. "Matter of fact, I thought I was one of the few still around who knew about it at all."

"I think my father thought the same thing." When Draco laughed the older man smiled wider and followed along with him, "I was curious myself if he was right about it."

The man nodded understandingly. "Going anywhere special?"

It was a simple question. The possible connotations weren't.

He smiled the best he could. "Not really. As a matter of fact—"

"Oh," the man broke in almost politely with a strange nod, "Best be careful then, lad. Nothing's been normal lately, and the Path is liable to pull someone who doesn't have a particular destination somewhere they don't want to go. That is if you get my drift."

"That's not to say that we don't know where we're going," Malfoy changed his voice and air of assurance slightly as he surmised that his initial reading of the man had been slightly off, "In fact, my lovely wife and I are off to a special … err, destination. The family has been rather stuffy as of late, especially with everything else going on, and we thought it might be good to get away for a bit to somewhere … special …" He let the suggestion trail off with his voice. Given any other situation he might've been having fun with this, and he longed to see what kind of reaction she was wearing.

The old man, however, didn't look like he was particularly buying it. "That may be a good idea you have there. I probably could stand to get away for a while myself. By the way, what did you say your names were?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Draco frowned, as though he was annoyed that that topic hadn't come up, "I'm Neville Long—knot," he said as he firmly shook the man's outstretched handshake, giving only the barest pause at making up the name. "And my wife—Agatha."

"Charmed," the man nodded and grinned at Hermione but made no move to shake her hand, which was probably for the best.

"Well," Draco said briskly, "I think we'd best be continuing. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," the man nodded and then mutually continued on past them.

"Crazy old wanker," Draco muttered under his breath when they were far enough away. "So nice of him to volunteer _his _name."

"Do you think something is going on?" Hermione asked warily as she scanned both sides of the path, one hand no doubt on her wand.

If something had been going on, Draco would have been of little help as distracted as he was. Still, he had a calm enough feeling in his gut that he couldn't kick himself too hard for not keeping a closer eye out.

"If there was, I think it would've happened by—" he broke off as they heard the man's voice hail them from a distance.

"Still, if I were you I'd be careful about where the Path is pulling you—" the man was shouting with his hands cupped around his mouth. "If you were heading in a specific direction, you'd be going this way."

Before the full weight of that could hit Draco, the man had turned and continued, not stopping again until he was out of sight. And even long after they'd continued on, it was some time before Draco began to wonder just how little he understood of the Path's complexities.

----------------------------------------

Everything else had a fine time ignoring the ominous feeling that had settled itself in his gut. It really was a beautiful day, but Hermione didn't seem to be any more at ease than he was. The most striking evidence for this was that she wasn't any more willing to bring up the encounter with the old man than he was. They only indirectly stumbled upon it much later, half by accident and half because it was growing darker by that time and they were looking for a good campsite. It amused him that she carefully avoided any mentioned of him posing her as his "lovely wife."

"But still," she shook her head, "Agatha Longknot? What possessed you to think of a name like that?"

He smiled but continued to carefully watch the sides of the Path. "Rule number one in making up a name is getting it out as quickly as possible. Most of the time they're not paying close attention anyway."

"I'll have to remember that." She said wryly, but a long silence followed. "Do you think … he was right?"

He sighed an honest sigh. "I don't know. Maybe—about some things."

"Do you think it would help if we changed where we're going?"

Sighing again would've been overkill, if only for redundancy's sake. "I've been trying to lead us back to one of the buildings near the manor. I … can't tell if it's working."

"Well," she said, with a stubborn sprinkling of optimism, "That's that then. There's nothing else that can be done. I doubt it would matter if I tried. Besides, it will turn out."

He stopped and nodded. "This will be as good a place as any to stop tonight."

"Okay, I'll go collect some firewood." She volunteered, but she remained motionless.

He had been about to say something to cover his own lack of movement.

"Draco …"

He stiffly turned his head to find her regarding him with a slight frown. Before he could really tell what was happening, she was walking towards him.

"Thank you," she stood on her tiptoes and quickly kissed his ear, "You don't know how much you've helped me."

Almost as though to beat anything else possible from happening, she turned and hurried into the woods.

His heart had caught up with the proceedings, and he was left with a somewhat dizzy feeling. There probably wasn't any school of thought, philosophical or otherwise, that could've helped him to make sense of … well, anything at that moment.

His hand rose uncertainly halfway to his ear before he stopped it. He could feel the evidence of what had just happened, which he quite frankly needed to ascertain that it had indeed happened, resting at the center of his ear.

_Evidence? _He frowned, and amidst worries that his ears might presently not be all that hygienic, he had a minor revelation that there was no nice word for spit. At least none that he could think of.

As he decided upon moisture as being the most amiable term, he decided he didn't dare touch it, no matter how much it tickled.

--------------------------------------------

They had fallen into a comfortable silence, but they'd been talking about something nearly the entire morning. He could remember only a few of the specific topics as most of them had been throwaway subjects, but he realized that it didn't necessarily matter what they talked about. Even now he had no idea how they had come to this. Being able to comfortably talk about nothing to the Gryfinndor bookworm would've been something he would've laughed at before this week, or even during most of it for that matter. Truth be told, he was nearly terrified that something might come and ruin it, so fragile did it seem.

It was a different kind of day from yesterday. Normally he enjoyed cloudy days, but lately those had been a little too frequent for his tastes, even though today wasn't exactly a brooding type of day.

"So what are you going to do—after all this, I mean?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"After all what?" Draco asked cautiously.

"Well," she hesitated for a moment, "After the war has been resolved."

"I don't know," he kicked at the dirt, "Depends what's still left. If _I'm _still left."

She abruptly stopped. Before he could be afraid that he'd said something wrong, he followed her gaze up ahead and discovered the reason.

Over the past few days they'd become accustomed enough to marching towards infinity that it took a minute to get over the shock of abruptly being able to see a definite end to the Path. Once that fact registered, it took substantially shorter for him to become excited at the sight of buildings. Multiple buildings, arranged in what civilization sometimes termed a town.

He was laughing and running towards it before he knew what he was doing. Hermione followed, with only a little less enthusiasm due to her insatiable cautiousness.

"It's a town!" he shouted back at her, as though that would make her as happy as he felt.

"I can see that!" she shouted back crossly, but she was still smiling as she ran to keep up. "But don't you think we'd rather take it a bit slower?"

"What for, we're not expected!"

"But it might be dangerous!" But she wasn't slowing down any herself.

"Oh, yes. Civilization is always so dangerous," he laughed but obliged and slowed to a jog as she caught up, "All the edible food you can buy or eat, all prepared by someone else; soft beds complete with pillows—"

"—Warm baths that last as long as you want," Hermione joined in, affecting a playfully dreamy tone.

They slowed even more as they neared the outskirts of what was turning out to be a very tiny and dreary looking town. That, however, didn't seem to be bothering her any more than it was him.

"I'll tell you one thing," Draco forced himself into a walk and ran a quick hand through his hair, "This roughing it business definitely isn't all that it's cracked up—"

It had been intended as an innocent glance behind them to see what had become of the Path, now that they were effectively off of it. Quite unsurprisingly, no trace of it remained, as it had been swallowed by the field that now stood in its place. Somewhere in the middle of his glance, however, reality caught up with him. The dirty looking man standing maybe a hundred paces behind them was enough to bring the old man's words back to him.

He was already beginning to feel incredibly stupid about running gaily into a muggle town when he saw that the man was regarding them suspiciously and pulling out something that couldn't possibly have been anything but a wand.

If he'd been wrong about that, there would've been plenty of time later to feel even stupider, but he'd already grabbed a fistful of her cloak and had pulled out his own wand by the time the man broke into stride with a harsh word. His stunning spell flew past them.

"Run!" Draco shouted as her predictable questions came, not being able to see what was happening for herself. Pushing her forward, he half followed as he turned and shot off his own hastily aimed stunning spell.


	15. Chapter 15

He could take him, he knew he could. It was only a single ragged man, but at the moment they were in the wide open and getting away was probably the wiser course of action, especially since they didn't even know where they were.

Smirking spitefully and hoping that the man could see it, spells continued to whisk by them as he muttered one of the more obscure charms he was proud of. Immediately the air around them began to pop and crackle, providing a blanket of protection that wouldn't be nearly strong enough to deflect spells of any considerable power, but would go a longs ways towards ensuring that they wouldn't find their mark.

Turning after making sure that it had worked properly, he pounded after Hermione, whom he waved on angrily upon finding that she had slowed to see what was happening. Her face was pale, but at his insistence she started off again towards the nearest building.

Seeing her so afraid made him wonder with a curious flash of intuition if the man's appearance hadn't reminded her of Leach.

Draco had little doubt that they could easily outrun their pursuer, glorified hobo that he probably was. By the time Draco finally managed to almost get excited by all this, unexpected and unexplained as it was, they began to slow as they neared the building.

Rounding the corner, they abruptly came up short at the foot of what probably passed as the main street. It was short and uneven, and this side of the town revealed just how run down it was. But it wasn't deserted.

It was hard to take in all of this at one time, almost as hard it was to register all the rough forms arrayed in various postures in front of the buildings. The split second they were afforded allowed him to note the signs of vagrant living sprawled disorderly inside the doorways and under what shelter there was. They could hardly be counted among the upper echelons of the ranks, but every instinct that Draco ever had screamed Death Eaters. That and a few other tasteful expletives.

Both parties probably looked equally surprised to see each other. He was on the verge of being numbly terrified himself, but thanks to instinct he was already grabbing her arm and pulling her in a blind dash to get out of the street. The sinking feeling in his stomach came about then as he realized what they'd stumbled into.

Ironically the spells flew before the curses and shouts of exclamation did. In a vain sort of way it was gratifying to hear his name being shouted in both instances, but he had little time to dwell on that.

Hermione struggled with their direction only a moment. By the time stunning spells began to dart overhead, she seemed to have adjusted to this abrupt change in circumstances and was running along with him.

He was indiscriminatingly throwing spells over his right shoulder by the time they were a step or two from the nearest sidewalk. By the time they reached it the initial barrage had caught up to them and she suddenly was yanked to the ground with a startled cry. His momentum carried him a few more steps before he skidded to a halt, spun, and stunned one man in the face that had stepped out in front of them

There were screams and drawn wands everywhere. The spells looked like a scattered kaleidoscope of light chasing, but generally their aim immediately improved when he and Hermione stopped moving.

It took a few frenzied moments and spells before he remembered the barrier he'd just used on the first man. No sooner had he cast it then one particularly errant spell came bare inches from his forehead before a sharp crackle intercepted and sent it streaking past his ear.

He hit the ground before it occurred to him that that might be a good idea, firing off random spells as he went. Landing haphazardly on his side, he got lucky with an Incarcerous, catching the nearest approaching man in ropes and leaving him to helplessly tumble to the ground.

Keeping up a frantic shield charm even though his deflection field was turning out to be surprisingly effective, he dug his free elbow into the ground and dragged himself across the street to where Hermione was clutching her wand with white knuckles and firing stunning spells as quickly as she could. The air that had been full of angry shouts only moments ago was now consumed with the blanket's harsh crackling. It was like dozens of firecrackers were exploding incessantly all around them. While most of their attackers had opted to charge at them before, they were now advancing almost timidly, if at all. The majority of them that he could make out through the dancing air were inching forward where the blanket was thinnest.

He spared a moment to point his wand and reverse the relatively simple leg-locking curse that was holding her.

"We have to get out of here!" he shouted the obvious, the sound barely making it to his own ears above the din. "Come on, this way!"

He grabbed a fistful of her nearest sleeve and was in the process of hauling her up, which she didn't seem too inclined to do herself, when he saw a pulse of blue and felt something hot strike him about halfway up.

Before the heat colliding in his chest could hurt, what felt like the equivalent of a very flat and very hard wall slammed into him. His forehead and nose cracked against it first before it continued on and connected with his shoulder and then the bottom of his ribs before finally hitting his knees hard enough to send jolts up his legs.

That was about all he could register for the next few seconds, which was probably a good thing. When his nervous system caught up, everything throbbed for a merciful second before blossoming into a uniquely agonizing pain.

Rolling over onto his side didn't really help, but for a moment his inundated mind thought that he could get away from the pain. His nose was broken and all up and down his body where he'd been struck was probably close to being broken as well. And amusingly, the only thing that he could think about at the moment was that his wand hand was empty. At least it was as amusing as something could be at this point.

He only remembered Hermione when he heard her cry out, though even that was difficult to do as everything inside him was suddenly making a lot of cantankerous noise inside his head. Somehow he did manage to recognize when his blanket dropped, as the crackling in his ears was replaced with ringing.

He tried to pull his head up to see what was happening and tried to ignore the pain that was making him want to vomit. It was overwhelming in a way he'd rarely ever felt. Dirty faces appeared over him.

"—Think that that would work—some kind of deflection cloud. Pretty clever, Malfoy," one of them was talking, and was probably the one that kicked him a moment later. "Yeah, I got his nose pretty good. How that does that feel, little Malfoy? I bet it kinda hurts."

There was laughter and a hand pushed his head back down. Groaning, he furiously lashed out with one foot only to meet nothing, and was in the process of taking his good hand away from his shoulder to grab something when a booted foot lashed out hard and caught that forearm just above the elbow.

He wasn't going to lie, that hurt. His perception of the world had mostly stopped whirling by this time as the initial shock gave way to the ache, though his nose was obliging him with shooting pains. That particular pain wasn't helped much when someone decided to tap it, in good humor, of course. He may have screamed a little then.

He couldn't really remember exactly what he screamed, though he knew he screamed a lot of it.

"Oh, did poor little Malfoy hurt himself?" mocked a voice above him. But it was a distracted voice, and a second and a muttered spell later, Draco felt his nose pop back into place, taking the worst of the pain with it. "Don't think that's for being nice, you little brat. We just don't want any of your inbred blood on our hands."

There was more laughter. He wasn't inclined to point out that it didn't matter since there was already blood everywhere. He could tell that much.

"Malfoy!" He heard Hermione scream.

There was movement and strong arms that were suddenly holding his, and then he was completely restrained and face-to-face with the voice from before. As he blinked away furious tears of pain and humiliation, trying to ignore the former and the blood that was all over his face, he futilely tried to compose his expression.

This was apparently funny to the man facing him. Malfoy thought he had seen the man before somewhere, but it was far from a sure thing. Regardless, he would never forget what the man looked like after he slapped Draco almost playfully on the cheek and laughed.

They were milling all around them, all of them muttering or whispering or saying something. But everyone listened when the man spoke.

"—And don't hurt her, or you'll pay for it through your hide!" he was shouting behind Malfoy, presumably where Hermione was.

"Ain't she a Mudblood though?" someone jovially shouted back.

"A Mudblood that belongs to the Dark Lord," the man returned, "Keep a close eye on her or you'll have to answer to him. As for this rich bag of shit—" He turned his malevolent grin to Malfoy. "The Dark Lord said that this one's a traitor and not even worth the effort of returning. So we get to have the fun ourselves! What'd you do with Leach, huh Malfoy? Not that it really matters now. Take him out to the shit hole and take care of him. Go on, you three, and don't bother taking it easy on him. His daddy isn't here to bail him out anymore—"

He was mad, but he knew he should've been furious. He fought but he knew he should've been fighting harder, but he hurt. Oh God, did he hurt.

"I'll kill you—" he sneered at the man, who was barely even looking at him anymore.

Almost absently, the man threw his foot into Draco's shin. Besides the pain, he would've fallen on his face if not for the two pairs of arms holding him up. Now that this recent blow struck his nerves just right, his eyes now ran involuntarily.

Between trying not to stumble due to the condition he was in and trying to feebly maintain whatever dignity he still had left through posturing, all the while reminiscing of some shamefully fond memories of Crabbe and Goyle, he caught snatches of the man giving orders and referring to the Mudblood.

"Mudblood!" Draco screamed back as he tried vainly to twist around, but he wasn't allowed enough room to see anything, "Mudblood! You're the Mudblood you filthy piece of half-blood—filthy half-blood—you're not even fit to—"

Whatever he might've said next was cut off as he was cuffed none too lightly in the back of the head as they pulled him away from everyone else. Joking, they alternated between shoving when he could manage to stagger on his throbbing legs, and grabbing him by the elbows and dragging him when his legs gave out altogether.

He had no idea how far exactly they went, though it seemed to last forever. Buildings gave way to fields, and fields gave way to trees as they guided him up a scantly beaten trail. During this he had trouble just keeping on his feet and staying ahead of the mocking hands that were always ready if he couldn't.

A fury like he'd rarely known, and hardly could be expected to control, was twisting in him. Everything was so unfair, why was this happening to him? _How_ could this happen to him? There was a finality to the whispers at the edges of his consciousness, saying he was going to die now, that they were going to drag him out here and kill him. It would be done away from everyone else, in the middle of nowhere to mock him. To them he was the equivalent of scum now, and they were going to kill him. He should've been able to see the irony in dying because he was now considered a blood traitor. He was going to die—they were going to kill him. But no matter how much that recurring thought pressed into him, he was still far angrier than he was afraid.

No matter what had happened, no matter how hard he'd tried, he had never been able to measure up to either side of the conflict that he'd been cast into from the day he'd been born. For the longest time he'd known without a doubt what people like him were supposed to do. But school had changed that, slowly and noticeably. When reality had come crashing back into the world, on the back of a battered boy clinging to a trophy and the body of another boy, things that had always only been talk before had suddenly drawn very real lines. And it was frightening—thrilling, yes—but more frightening than anything else. By that time he'd been in school for four years, and had seen enough that he'd made the hardest decision of his life that following summer, when he began to catch glimpses at the manor of this new reality he was obliged to be a part of.

It seemed almost funny now to think that he'd spent nights tossing and turning then, torturing himself over it. In hindsight he could see that it had been the self-theatrics of a little boy and it seemed terribly unimportant now. Regardless, he'd made his decision. He'd like to think that it had been mostly because of what he'd seen, because of that girl with the goofy smile, but more than anything else he probably did it because he was afraid.

But what had it amounted to? Nothing bad had ever really come from what he had tried to warn of, and the Golden Dingbats probably had completely ignored him anyway. And once again he'd chosen the wrong way to go about it, a recurring trait in his life. The Inquisitorial Squad had been helping the bloody ministry, after all. That's how he had looked at it. Plus it had been fun. In the end he was resented even more for everything he'd done, not that everything he'd done had accomplished anything at all.

A particularly hard kick into his back sent him sprawling to the ground and back to present injustices. His mouth came up with dirt as his escort continued to laugh at something one of them had said.

Blinding white light obscured his vision as he grabbed two fistfuls of moist earth and whipped them up at the nearest man in a rage, his lunge following quickly thereafter. Or at least that's what he tried. Limitations due to his condition saw fit to keep said lunge from progressing much. His friends weren't really going to let him get that far anyway.

This time when he hit the ground, a few more bursts of pain followed a few more kicks. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Trying to think about something else never really helped, but he tried anyway.

"Oh, is the little pureblood crying?" one of them punctuated the taunt with a kick that struck hard enough to make him curl up.

Glowering up at them as they stopped for a moment, he decided against speaking as he strove to keep his breathes even, no matter how much it hurt. Taunting would only encourage them anyway.

"We're supposed to take him up to the—" one them started.

"—This is far enough. He's not going any further, look at him." The one speaking squatted in front of Malfoy, pretending to examine him. "He's not even worth it—not anymore. You wouldn't believe what he was worth before. He even still looks like it. Look at what a pretty face he has—" the man reached forward to touch his hair, "—I bet his family's been inbreeding since—"

Malfoy's hand shot out to grab the man's wrist, even though he knew it would only elicit more pain, but evidently that also had been expected. Before he could really tell what was happening, he found that hand abruptly near his face and underneath the man's boot.

"Now, now little Malfoy," the man grinned and slowly withdrew his wand, leveling it down at Draco's face, "Didn't your mother ever teach you to play nice?" His breath plainly smelled of cheap alcohol, liberally thrown at him as it was. "Oh, yes. Your mother's a lovely looking woman. Right delightful. We're looking for her too, and it'll only—be—" the wand tip advanced towards Draco's left eye with each syllable, though he noted that the man was carefully watching Draco's free arm. The hand pinned underneath the man's foot began to throb. "—A—matter—of time before we find her too. That'll be a lot more fun than this—no matter how much you scream like a girl. What's the matter, not feeling so feisty anymore?" the man inclined his head towards Draco's free arm still wrapped around his aching ribs. "Come on, little Malfoy. Don't disappoint us. It's not often that we get to put one of your kind in your place." The man stood up, making sure to shift the bulk of his weight onto Draco's hand before stepping away.

Draco fumed up at him through his brows, doing everything he could to not watch the end of the wand that was being waved so carelessly in his general direction. His pulse was pounding in his ears and he tried to hide how he could barely keep from shying from the wand. Apparently the man was observant enough to catch that. For a long minute there was silence and a terrible understanding that passed between them. The other two men shifted impatiently.

Leering as his face came to a set, the man extended his wand until it was just a few inches from Draco's eye. He felt everything go cold and his neck began to shake uncontrollably as the point hovered in front of him.

"Avada!" it was a quick and harsh enunciation, as if the man had actually meant to cast the curse.

They laughed at how he flinched. The man began to circle around him, his wand bouncing with each step but never adverting its aim.

"Avada—" the man's voice rose to a mockingly high pitch as he repeated it over and over again, "Avada—Avada—Avada—" The other men laughed even as Draco forced himself not to cringe. "Avada—Avada—Crucio!"

The man lifted the spell almost instantly, but it lingered long enough for the burning to flood every one of his nerves, long enough to make his skin feel like it was on fire. It dissipated and left everything to fade slowly back to reality.

"Oh, what's that?"

Draco's eyes were clenched shut as he rode out the last waves of pain. The man's voice sounded miles away, and there was more mirth. When he opened his eyes, he found that not much had changed.

"Don't you like that?" the man asked sweetly. "But isn't that what you did to poor Leach? What did you do with him anyway? Huh? Do you really think not talking is going to help you?" That was punctuated by a well-aimed kick to his stomach, which mostly made up for the progress Draco had made towards being able to breath properly again.

"Come on, Reggins, let's do something creative," said a voice that was suddenly right behind him, and thick hands abruptly grabbed hold of his ears. "You can't have all the fun."

Breaking against established common sense, Draco twisted around the best he could and grabbed at the hands holding his ears. His efforts were rewarded as the hands pulled back hard, and he cried out as he futilely tried to wrench them away.

"Scratches like a little girl—" came the grunt behind him. A second later and the man stood up, half dragging Draco writhing with him by the precarious grip.

The other two men moved in front of them. The one that hadn't spoken yet leaned in close to get attention while he held Draco's wand in both hands.

"Let's see how tough he is with a broken wand," the man gave a sniveling snicker and looked over to make sure the first man was laughing along with him.

Draco's hands vainly flew out towards his wand, but he was too far away and still being dragged even farther. For that moment the pain didn't matter. He could only numbly watch as the shirking man began to bend his wand, past the elasticity, further and further—

He may have seen the surprise on the first man's face. He knew for sure the man bending his wand was far too preoccupied to notice anything.

The air in between them suddenly exploded with brilliant white light. It was like a burning ball had been dropped in the midst of them.

Suddenly the air was churning and all three of the men were shouting. Maybe he heard the bodies hitting the ground, but maybe he imagined that too.

All he knew for certain was that the hands holding him were suddenly gone and he landed hard on the ground. He distinctly heard the man above him screaming something unintelligible until there was a distinct mass that toppled on Draco's legs.

All this he somehow managed to perceive. There was room for little else. Even after he'd slammed his eyes shut the light followed him, stabbing white beams of a kind of new pain into his head, strangely making everything he'd felt in the past few minutes come back with a horrible clarity.

But the light that chased his eyes slowly died away, probably far more slowly than the actual light itself did. By the time he could actually open his eyes and utilize a marginal amount of his vision, he realized that everything around him had grown quiet.

Pulling himself up slightly, he kicked at the man slumped over his legs. After realizing it would take a little more effort and finding with some surprise and a flood of uncontrollable relief that the other two men were also unconscious, he freed himself and scrambled to his feet. Because of circumstances he thought with his limited capacity to reason that if he stood up, he might somehow escape unconsciousness himself. His legs weren't ready for active service, however, and he had to quickly stumble over to the nearest tree to avoid losing the battle against gravity.

At about that time the rest of his wits caught up with him and he whirled around to look for the source of all this.

Despite knowing that there had to be a source, it was still quite a shock to actually find someone standing there, not ten feet away, calmly staring back with Draco's wand in his hand.

Draco's sharp intake of breath wasn't quite so calm, as he fought dizziness and denial at whom he seemed to be staring at.

"Potter?"


	16. Chapter 16

He'd whispered the name unbelievingly, almost like an accusation, before he'd actually made a confident identification. His mind could hardly move beyond acknowledging that the likelihood he was hallucinating probably wasn't great enough to conjure up something like this. He suddenly felt more tired than he had in his entire life. There was plenty of justification for that.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" It even sounded like Harry Potter. And no obvious evidence was popping up to contradict that this was indeed Harry Potter.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Draco shot back. It came naturally, and was good for regaining his bearings.

Taking a deep breath he took stock of the present situation. For the moment his happy little escort was apparently incapacitated, seemingly thanks to the Boy Wonder. He could tally that up as a plus. He looked around quickly, but found no signs that there was anyone else here. Surely though, Weasley had to be nearby as well. "What is it, were you following us or something?"

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Potter repeated, but this time it was cold enough to remind Draco exactly who was holding both wands. With a sinking feeling he wondered if his situation had really altered all that much.

"We were traveling and accidentally came here—we had no idea there were Death Eaters," he said, not really seeing any benefit to be had by lying, "They surprised us and they brought me out here—Much as I appreciate the help, Potter, it would've been nice a few minutes sooner. What were you doing anyway, following her?"

"Following who?" Harry asked, but there was something in his voice that said it wasn't a completely innocent question.

"Granger," Draco breathed, their dilemma in its entirety coming back to him, "She's still with them. They still have her—back at the town and she wasn't hurt when they took her. They said they wouldn't hurt her but—" he realized that he was blabbing and noticed Potter's doubtful expression, "Hermione Granger, she was with me—but you know that! She came to you a couple days ago—she talked to _you,_ didn't she?"

"Yes." Potter shifted slightly. "She's getting pretty desperate if she's tagging around with you now," he added bitterly, "But I suppose she needs someone to mess with. It's too bad she didn't stick with House Elves. I bet you fill the position just great. Has she been _mothering_ you too?" He spat the word like it was a curse.

"Not so much," Draco returned angrily, "But then again, she's been a little shaken up recently. Can't imagine why."

Potter laughed none too gently. "If she can't handle what she asks for, that's her problem. She's nothing but a miserable manipulator."

Draco glanced back towards the town impatiently, not really in the mood at the moment for Potter's whining. They really didn't have time for this. But he had to be careful since Potter was the one holding the cards. For whatever reason Draco couldn't fathom, however, Potter wasn't hexing him into oblivion. In fact, they were having something a deaf person might call a civil conversation.

"Listen, Potter," he briefly contemplated giving formal thanks for the whole saving him bit, but decided that would be pushing it, "There's not a whole lot of time. They said they were going to take her to the Dark Lord—_the Dark Lord_. Just because she knows _you_—and they'll be doing it soon." He nearly said that they might have already, but he didn't even want to think about that. "We have to get her out of there before they move her, or we'll never be able to catch them."

Harry stared back at him emotionlessly, and Draco remembered the feeling he'd had not long before that maybe this time wouldn't be like the others. Maybe the Golden Three wouldn't all kiss and make up.

"Potter," he was almost pleading now, "We have to help her. She's your _friend_."

Potter was staring at the ground now. A long moment passed before he nodded slightly. When he looked back up there was a hesitation, but only for the barest moment.

Draco hardly had the mind to catch his wand when it was thrown to him, and even then he could only stare back at Harry.

"What do we do about it, then?"

Draco noticed that Potter didn't immediately lower his wand, but it was far more leeway than he could've expected.

Draco pursed his lips and looked back towards what little they could see of the town, more to show that he wasn't going to betray this surprising amount of trust than anything else.

-----------------------------------------

"I don't know—most of them must have left already," Draco muttered as he looked down through his wand. Suspended at the end of it was a floating sphere of magnification fixed on the town's main street, which was full of a kind of activity that had been absent when they'd first arrived. There was still the disturbing issue, however, that most of the Death Eaters were no longer in sight. It was entirely possible that most of them could be inside the buildings, but he wasn't all that keen on bringing that up to Potter. "I count seven."

"There's eight," Potter lowered his own wand, which Draco noticed had mostly remained on where Hermione was being held at the far end of the street.

"Fine, eight," Draco conceded, not especially in the mood to quibble, "That's still not all that many. Most of them must have left already."

He noticed that Potter was regarding him skeptically now.

"So what do you propose we do?" he asked Malfoy quietly.

Draco hauled in a tight breath, knowing that this was the time to push. "We take them straight up the middle. They're disorganized and not much to boast about. If we hit them fast and don't give them a chance to use their numbers—we can take them."

The uncertainty, or even the argument Draco had been expecting didn't come. Potter nodded like he had been thinking the same.

"Any special way we should do it?" Potter asked as he stood up, perfectly heroic expression already set on his face. Malfoy found he didn't particularly mind that at this point.

He stood up maybe a bit too quickly, mostly due to surprise. It seemed that this was almost too easy, not that he'd really expected a lot of protest from Potter once he'd seen reason. Hurriedly looking once more through his wand, he broke the magnification spell and shook his head in answer to the question.

"Take the left," Draco murmured, feeling his pulse begin to beat frantically as doubts of his less than enviable condition sprang back to mind. "I'll take the right."

And Potter was already walking, sparing him only a distracted nod. He was moving off to the left quickly enough that Draco had to jog prudently to stay even with him. All the while he was praying feverishly that they wouldn't be seen right away, which would make everything a whole lot trickier.

His limbs still ached, and his shin made walking more difficult than usual, but the adrenaline that was coursing through him was enough to make him heady with the rush. He unconsciously wiped almost incessantly at his face, even though he'd already gotten rid of most of the blood. With each heartbeat, the fear seemed to get harder to push down, like it was a physical thing rising up inside him, or even hungrily following at their heels. He even glanced back quickly behind his shoulder, but this time there was no wandering sentry to give them away.

When he looked back up ahead at the Death Eaters still frantically darting across the street, heedless of their approach, he noticed two of them quickly run over into a building that stood on the left.

"Two of them just ran over your way," Draco pointed out as loudly as he dared.

"You just worry about your side." Potter shot back.

Draco was already way ahead of him in that regard. Trying to walk past the limp he was nursing, even though nobody was watching him, he tore his eyes away from the left and concentrated on the few men remaining on his side. Taking the variables into account, he designated the nearest Death Eater as top priority, the farthest one away coming in second. Draco had an odd feeling that Death Eater might fall back near Hermione. Not only did he and Potter have to worry about their combined retaliation, but if any one of them grabbed Hermione and apparated this would all be for nothing.

Glancing over, he caught Potter raising his wand. Gritting his teeth and doing likewise, he conceded that this was probably close enough, though it would be hard to hold off the farthest ones away at this range.

He couldn't describe it. He couldn't even decide exactly how he felt. He was on the verge of being terrified, yes, but there was so much more to it. If it wasn't fear, there was definitely something else moving with them, confidently as it seemed. Maybe this was power, or what power could feel like. It made giddy, idealized notions flash through his mind, always just ahead of grisly images of the possible outcomes. Somewhere in all that tumult there were even some thoughts of what it would be like for him and Hermione to go with Potter after this was over. But he didn't allow those thoughts for very long, especially those that strayed to less favorable outcomes.

The smaller Death Eater that he'd marked as priority number two looked up and subsequently rose to his feet very quickly as his eyes met Malfoy's. Before the man could give a warning, however, Potter shouted something and the middle of the street was suddenly engulfed in a blinding white light like before. This time the distance and an arm raised in front of his eyes helped to block most of it. Draco was surprised to be able to clearly see the ball of light this time, though it extinguished itself after only a few seconds. After that it remained suspended in the air, slowly fading.

Wishing he had something impressive like that, Draco threw out his own wand when the light had mostly faded and fired a quick stunning spell, knocking down the smaller man who'd first seen him. It wasn't exactly as impressive, though his estimable aim in this instance nearly made up for it.

While the air whipped down the street, presumably due to Potter's spell, voices of panic were raised alongside Potter's voice bellowing out a constant barrage of spells. Draco was beginning to think that this was too easy. The remaining two men on his side were blindly stumbling around, but when he looked over he saw that things weren't progressing quite so favorably on the other side.

One of the Death Eaters there was holding an unusual form of shield that Draco couldn't name and was letting Potter's spells harmlessly ricochet off it. Without thinking, Draco perpendicularly changed directions and came at the Death Eater from the side, blowing him off his feet before he could redirect his shield.

Apparently the men on this side hadn't been looking directly towards the blinding spell when it had gone off. Now he realized, back in the woods, that Potter may have waited until they'd all been watching Draco's wand for a reason.

Draco turned and saw that the lead Death Eater from before was now uncertainly facing both Potter and him, but a moment later the two men that Draco had seen before ran out of the building. It took only a moment for them to take in the situation and shift the odds.

For a moment there was a furious outpouring of fire between the two new arrivals and Potter, who handled it commendably from what he could see, but Draco was too distracted with the lead Death Eater to take in the details.

Ducking low and sprinting as quickly as he could up the middle of the street, his hopes of keeping Potter and him from staying one easy target to lump fire onto turned out to be mostly successful as the lead Death Eater turned his attention towards him with a sneer. On sheer nerve and another ample squirt of adrenalin, he dug his feet into the broken pavement and his will to stay alive, so that he managed to keep just ahead of the stream of curses directed at him, even as his lungs began to burn and his muscles began to pull him down.

"Incendio!"

Malfoy had only that bare warning before he dropped to the ground just below the roaring torrent of heat and fire that plumed above him. For a moment he lay still on the pavement, blinking furiously and not daring to move. His eyes darted to the right through the twisting air to catch a glimpse of Hermione sitting bound not nearly as far away as he would've guessed, her eyes wide as she twisted to see what was happening.

But the flames shrank almost at once from their initial deployment and continued almost blindly in the direction Draco had been running, whether because the Death Eater hadn't completely avoided Potter's blinding charm or because he'd temporarily misplaced Malfoy in the massive volume of flames. A few seconds later Malfoy caught a glimpse of the Death Eater through the whirling flames.

"Expelliarmus!" Draco shouted and watched with dismay as the man's wand flew away, leaving the man gaping but otherwise untouched.

Leaping to his feet up into the still blistering air and furiously running at the man, Draco really didn't know if he intended to shoot a spell point blank at the man, strike him physically, or both. Jumping onto the sidewalk, he landed hard enough for everything to hurt even worse. The Death Eater was spinning around almost comically in place, trying to locate his wand.

Draco had a split second to honestly confess to himself that he was in no shape to physically take on anyone when he crashed into the Death Eater. His momentum pushed over the other man and somehow Draco managed to end up on top.

Anger and surprise defined the man's face as his hands shot out for Draco's. Consequently, Draco's wand was pushed away just in time for his stunning spell to harmlessly hit the ground just above the man's shoulder. Snarling as he twisted his body for leverage, Draco tried to push his wand over the man's body, but was finding his shrinking reservoir of strength to be woefully inadequate for the task.

The Death Eater growled something and brought his knee up into Malfoy's unfortunately very tender side, throwing Draco to the ground beside him. He barely had time to see the look of triumph on the man's face before whispers of something rushed just over their heads.

Almost immediately the building front near them exploded outwards, flinging debris everywhere. Draco pulled away from the man and looked over in shock at the building front, and then to the opposite side of the street where the two men that had been blinded before were now pointing their wands towards him. He'd nearly forgotten about them.

He scrambled towards the Death Eater beside him even as the man was attempting to sit up, clutching his bleeding arm in shock. A second later a volley of stunning spells whipped at them, and Draco pressed himself against the Death Eater, who fell to the ground unconscious.

Pulling himself tighter against the motionless body as other spells flashed just bare inches over him, he threw his wand over the man's chest and began to throw out a blanket of his own stunning spells. Chasing one of the Death Eaters with them as the man slowly strafed to the right, he finally succeeded in hitting that Death Eater before shifting his concentration to the other one, who was moving down the street, towards Hermione.

"Malfoy, stop him!" Potter yelled from somewhere down the street behind him.

Draco barely caught this before a pair of feet fell near his head and pounded past him towards Hermione. By this time Draco's Death Eater had almost completely abandoned returning fire as he also continued for Hermione.

Pulling himself to his feet and fighting the panic at letting them get through, Draco had a split second to choose which Death Eater to shoot at before he saw the first one turn his wand towards Hermione.

Draco felt his chest clench as the Death Eater fired a hasty spell that flashed past Hermione's face just before Draco's desperate line of stunning spells reached him. The majority missed, but one clipped the Death Eater in the leg and dropped him.

Nearly stumbling over the rutted pavement, Draco turned his attention to where the other Death Eater had stopped and was showing more gall, being locked in a livid fight with Potter.

A pair of pops behind him caused Draco to turn to find that two more Death Eaters had apparated into the middle of the street, maybe fifty feet away. His wand rose unsteadily as he cast a shield charm just as their fire came at him, though they seemed more distracted by whatever Potter was doing. Even as they ran at Draco, forcing him to keep up his shields, the nearest one raced past him, leaving the other to circle more slowly in the same direction.

When that Death Eater had mostly gotten around Draco, he looked nervously over to where the other Death Eater had run towards Potter. Draco did the same, and found that Potter had taken care of the previous Death Eater and was now holding the new one off as he also haphazardly dashed towards Hermione.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Draco whipped his head around just as the flash of green flared through his shield and by his ear. In that moment he was truly afraid, but it passed painlessly, and by instinct he took advantage of the gap provided him.

"Silencio!" Draco shouted and only waited long enough to see that it had silenced his Death Eater before taking off towards Potter, not exactly sure himself what he was doing.

There were a furious few seconds as Potter neared Hermione, fighting his remaining Death Eater to a stand still before getting a binding spell through, causing the man to fall to the ground.

Harry didn't even glance in Draco's direction as he closed the last few steps to Hermione and grabbed her arm. There was a slight moment where nothing happened, and then they both apparated away with a pop.

"No!" Draco screamed. He ran pointlessly towards the spot they'd disappeared from for a few more seconds before forcing himself to stop.

Whirling around, he found that the remaining Death Eater had gotten rid of his jinx and was in the process of raising his wand towards Draco.

"Crucio!" Draco shouted.


	17. Chapter 17

Pleasure rolled into him, beginning at the end of his wand hand and traveling throughout the rest of his body. Even as he watched through half lidded eyes as the Death Eater dropped to his knees, his whole body convulsing to the pain, Draco could feel his own despair and hate pouring out of his body and into the other man. Every bad thing he could ever claim to have felt was conveyed through the curse, leaving him feeling almost warm.

But there was something tangibly wrong. He tried to ignore it for as long as he could; it just felt so good. But there was a perverse taint to it, one that ran up his spine and fed the excitement. For what seemed like forever—though it couldn't possibly have been more than a few seconds—he drank it in, reveling in the knowledge that there was no one that could possibly stop him.

Shaking, he opened his eyes however, and found the man writhing silently on the ground. He was an unusually ugly man, his stupid mouth was agape and twisting in an unnatural way, yet oddly he made no sound.

Sweat was burning at Draco's forehead and trickling down into the corners of his eyes, but he didn't dare move. His breath came in sharp, shallow lungfulls.

When his surging guilt came momentarily, he wrenched his wand away and severed the link, finding himself gasping even harder than the other man who lay there shuddering. As in other things that he'd never partaked in, he found that a man was wiser immediately after the fact. The guilt nearly made him choke. Before anything else could happen, Draco put the man under a binding curse and spun away, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat and trembling hands.

Slowly he sank to the ground. He was so tired. Everything hurt and it wasn't fair, and now he felt horrible as well. Hopes that Hermione and Potter might come back for him were never exactly strong, thanks to his newfound degree of pessimism, but hope dwindled even further as the minutes stretched by. The ideas he'd had before of Hermione and him going with Potter seemed laughable now. Laughable and disgustingly naïve.

It was that horrible sense of being left behind, of being abandoned, that made him repeat everything that had just happened over and over again in his head, and made him think that he should cry now. His eyes gave no indication that was imminent, but he felt like he should anyway. He'd certainly cried before over lesser things when he'd been alone, and he had never felt more alone than he did now.

Those and other bitter thoughts occupied him for a long time. They were much better than constantly hoping that they would suddenly come back for him. He had no idea how long exactly, but when he caught hints of voices behind him, it felt like hours had passed.

At first he ignored them, hoping and half believing that he was imagining them. But they began to draw closer until he slowly stood and turned around.

"Expelliarmus!" a voice bellowed.

Out of instinct his other hand flashed out to snatch at his flying wand, but he wasn't nearly fast enough.

There was a group of them walking towards him. At first the couple faces he focused on were unfamiliar, but due to the red hair and all too familiar face, he didn't have any trouble placing the one who had disarmed him.

"It's sodding Malfoy!" one of the Weasley twins breathed, which one exactly he had no hope of guessing.

"Lucius' son?" one of them asked.

There were about half a dozen of them. Most of them were gaping at the sight around them, but some of them, with the notable inclusion of Ron Weasley, were glaring at him. He thought about running then, but it was hard enough just to stay standing. And, with some effort, he reminded himself that these technically weren't his enemies. He almost felt guilty in their presence after having tortured the Death Eater. He certainly couldn't bring himself to feel relieved.

"Where's Harry, Malfoy?" The youngest Weasley brother was sporting quite the scowl and hadn't lowered his wand, despite Malfoy being unarmed and motionless. "Where is he?"

Draco looked at the wand pointing accusingly at him, entirely too weary of wands being pointed at him today. "He left."

Ron's neck twisted slightly. "Where did he go?" His enunciation was very careful.

"I don't know," Malfoy might've shrugged if telling the truth hadn't sounded so condemning. "He apparated away with Granger after we attacked."

"Funny," one of the Weasley twins chuckled, apparently the bolder one of the two, as he was the one who stepped out of the group and began to circle around to Malfoy's right. "A right regular comedian we have here."

This movement didn't escape Draco, nor did the general way that the group was fanning out around him almost instinctively. Now that he had the time, he recognized Neville Longbottom towards the back of the group in addition to the three Weasley brothers. He'd never seen the other two before. They looked a bit older than the twins.

"A regular funny man," the other Weasley twin agreed, beginning to circle around to Malfoy's left.

Well, that pretty much confirmed that Potter hadn't been too eager to spread the word that he and Hermione had been traveling together. Since none of them were looking like they were going to step forward and verify his story, even if one of them did happen to know about it, the truth wasn't likely going to fly in this case. Somehow, that suited his sour mood and hungry need for self-pity just fine.

"Just shut up and tell us what happened to Harry," Ron demanded.

"Quite the contradiction, there." Malfoy smirked spitefully at him, though he kept his eyes on the others to show that he wasn't overlooking their advance. "What do you want me to do, shut up or repeat myself? He left with your girlfriend—your former girlfriend, I should say."

Weasley had forever been too easy to provoke. It had always been a dependable pick up for Malfoy's mood back in school. Maybe the Weasel was having a bad week, or maybe the mention of Hermione hit him just right. Regardless, there was no one here to hold him back now.

"Shut your mouth!" Ron roared.

"Isn't he a Death Eater?" one of the two unfamiliar to Draco asked, the one with shorter brown hair. "Why should we believe him?"

"But why wouldn't Harry wait for us?" Neville spoke up uncertainly.

"Why would he?" Malfoy sneered. "He obviously didn't need incompetent help to—"

The twins picked then to lunge for his arms. He'd been expecting it sooner, not that he could do much about it. He was able to wrench his arm out of the left twin's grip and tried to grab for the one on his right, but the effort was largely pointless. In a moment they had both his arms. With a pair of irritatingly similar laughs, they picked him up and forcibly carried him struggling to pin him against the nearest wall. Shameful as it was to admit, he'd always been afraid of them.

"Careful, Fred," one of them laughed, "Looks like Malfoy hasn't had a good day."

"Well, where is it?" the other one asked as Malfoy swore at them and tried to kick with his legs.

"Where's what?" The other unfamiliar boy that hadn't spoken before had run along with the twins laughing. He had his wand pointed at Malfoy and was pulling his longer black hair out of his eyes.

"The fragile warning—they usually mark expensive packages." The first Weasley twin yanked on Draco's arm when he tried to twist out of his grip.

The eyes of the unfamiliar one with the wand lit up as he laughed along with the twins. "They don't even say which end goes up—Levicorpus!"

Draco had the presence of mind not to cry out as his ankles were suddenly jerked out from under him. His hands vainly tried to claw at the ground, but he ended up suspended in the air anyway, dangling by his ankles and twisting above the ground. Everything was out of arms reach, so he settled for gritting his teeth. His face had flushed, and not just from the blood painfully rushing down into his head.

The twins and the wanker holding him with the spell were having a fine hearty laugh. As he was twisted around, partially due to his struggling, he found that Ron and the other unfamiliar one were watching with cold expressions while Neville looked particularly uncomfortable.

More jokes came and went, but Draco shut his eyes and resisted the urge to vomit. Hanging upside down was not on the list of things his body was up to. But a perceptive change in their voices made him open his eyes just in time to see the ground rush up to greet him as the spell was released.

Directions became mostly meaningless as he lay there for a moment, the world painfully spinning around his head. He'd landed, fairly luckily, on his shoulder, though that had previously been one of the few places he could claim didn't hurt outright.

But once again hands were grabbing him by the arms and pinning him up against the wall again. They seemed to be taking it slightly easier on him than before, perhaps noticing that he wasn't up for this kind of routine. But if they'd had even the smallest bit of pity, they might've allowed him a moment to wipe at the tears rolling down his cheeks, more from the pain than the humiliation, he'd like to think.

The older black haired boy had backed off and Ron had stepped forward, stormy expression still in place. Draco had seen enough beatings, even participated in a few, to be able to spot one in the making.

"I'm only going to ask you one more time, Malfoy," Ron couldn't have made his impending intentions anymore obvious if he'd rolled up his sleeves, "Where's Harry?"

It was pointless. He knew that laughing would only make Weasley madder, so he did it anyway, despite how much it hurt. Weasley didn't really want his question answered by him anyway.

"Getting lonely for Potter already?" Malfoy sneered the best he could. "I guess you would since you've gotten rid of Hermione. It's a good thing, really, that you've got such a large family to—" The rest, which he had to admit to himself probably would've been sub par considering how sluggish his brain was working, was lost as his breath was forcibly expelled under Ron's blow to his stomach.

"You're good, Malfoy. Always were with your stories," Ron said hotly, "You on a first name basis with her? Yeah, I bet."

Another fist to the stomach and Draco was seeing black spots in front of his eyes. He was wheezing rather pathetically as well. Even if he'd been able to speak, his snarky comments were at a definite end.

"Come on, Ronald," one of the twins mocked good naturally, "Is that all the harder you can hit? We would've been better off bringing Ginny!"

"I've been waiting six years for this," Ron was shaking his head with a sated look on his face.

This time Ron didn't bother with the stomach as he moved his aim up. Draco's lung consequently felt like it had imploded, and he fought to breath at all. The twins had to shift their grip to keep him from sinking.

"Ron, this isn't what we came here for—" Neville insisted from somewhere off to the side. Ron answered with a vaguely angry and incomprehensible retort.

"Told you we shouldn't've brought him." Draco caught one of the twins whisper.

"Come on, Ron!" the other twin ignored the remark and urged his younger brother on.

"_Let him go!" _

There was a shocked moment where Ron froze, one hand cocked and the other on Malfoy's chest, marking out his next intended target. In fact, everything seemed to have stopped, though due to what little Draco could see, this was mostly communicated to him through Ron's suddenly petrified body language.

"Stop it, all of you!" A horrified voice commanded. It couldn't have possibly belonged to Longbottom for more than a few reasons.

As though it might assuage them of any guilt, the twins abruptly released him. He tried and mostly succeeded in landing gently on his hands and knees.

When he could look up, he found a very livid Hermione Granger glaring at all of them, seemingly at once, if that was possible.

It was like being back at school, never mind that they had more or less kicked her out of their precious little circle. Despite this, no one dared to say a word as she stiffly marched up.

"Have you all lost your minds?" she demanded.

"He's a Death Eater—" the black haired boy started hesitantly, sounding more than a little confused. He likely didn't even know who she was.

"No, he isn't!" Hermione cut off any argument that they might've mustered.

She pointedly looked away from them and consequently at him. He was almost satisfied at the shocked expression she gave. Marching towards him with her chin in the air, she only gave the barest sidelong glance at Ron when he started.

"Hermione?" Ron asked weakly, apparently still very much stunned.

No matter how hard Draco tried to feel otherwise, that single word was probably one of the brightest points of the entire day. He needed to doubt no further that the Golden Three would all kiss and make up eventually. And that made him about as happy as he could be at the moment. That and her coming back, of course.

"Can you walk?" she asked him quietly, privately.

He'd had just about enough of telling the truth lately. He couldn't talk, but he gave his best nod.

Apparating straight to a feather bed and slipping into hibernation sounded pretty good, but he settled for letting her help him to his feet and limp away from them. They didn't say anything else, and he managed to only glare at them a little. He knew the events of the past few minutes were more than enough.

"Head for the woods," he murmured, resisting the urge to look back as they neared the edge of town. Making it that far would be quite a feat.

"No," she replied firmly as she continued to struggle with him.

"What do you mean no?" he asked angrily. "The woods are the safest—"

"Keep quiet, you're half out of your mind as it is," she ordered, "I've got a portkey."

"Are you crazy?" he forced her to a stop and carefully slipped to his knees. "I can't use a portkey like this."

"No kidding," she rolled her eyes, "It's a soft landing portkey that—What am I telling this to you for, anyway? Just keep quiet, I've got everything under control."

"No problem." He gratefully settled back the rest of the way to the ground as she dug through her bag.

He caught her muttering under her breath as she worked, and he distinctly caught references to him not eating lately and her being able to carry him.

"What was that?" he intoned, not able to keep from feeling happy despite himself. Nearly elated, actually.

"I said be quiet," she said sternly.

He couldn't help from smiling. "I did always want a woman that I couldn't push around."

She carefully made sure not to look up from what she was doing. It was a risky comment, but embarrassing himself wasn't as high up on his priorities as usual. Things like passing out ranked much higher.

And he did just that, sometime after he had whispered thank you to her, probably more than once, and sometime before the portkey carried them both away.


	18. Chapter 18 with Epilogue

Draco could safely say that he'd never been better fed in his entire life. And that was coming from someone who'd been raised up in Malfoy manor and had attended Hogwarts, though he couldn't claim to ever have been a big eater. It wasn't so much that there was a lot to eat now—just that he was required to eat all of it. Fortunately, the thought of eating very much was no longer as off putting as it had been.

He was beginning to see what Potter had meant when he'd termed it as mothering.

Hermione would've put St. Mungo's to shame. It made his headache worse just watching her bustle around, though he spent a lot of time sleeping.

She'd brought him to what had evidently served as her makeshift home after being shut out from her friends. It was a rickety old house located God only knew where, but she did the best she could with it. She'd obstinately cleaned it as much as it would allow, at least in the room he was staying in, though he suspected there wasn't a whole lot more to the house. She wasn't about to let him on his feet, so he had no chance to investigate that notion. There was also a notably large strip of roof missing from the ceiling, though she'd charmed it so that no moisture could get through.

Once he caught her muttering about bringing him to her parents' house, but that was the only mention he ever heard of that. He wondered if her parents knew even half of what was happening in regards to their daughter.

It may have been a rickety old shack and a bed that smelled vaguely funny, and not in an amusing way, but it was better than what he'd had to offer her during the previous week. All of that seemed more than a little unintelligent now in hindsight, but he was just happy where he was for the moment. Even things like having his wand at the mercy of Potter and his cronies didn't really bother him. He would sort that stuff out later.

While he had plenty of time to socialize with this newly revealed motherly side of Hermione, they mostly avoided talking about the variety of serious topics that the past week had been so kind to provide. He did break down the first night and confessed to her what he'd done to the Death Eater, and she had consoled him appropriately. Still, there was a distinct distance that she seemed apt to keep from him whenever possible, and he came out of the admission feeling a bit silly. Better, yes, but silly as well.

By that first night he was feeling antsy and was sitting up in bed whenever he could, though he wasn't brave enough yet to try his hand at getting out. Her careful and methodical healing had remedied the worst of his complaints, but she still insisted that he keep in bed. The whole distancing thing became even worse as it got darker, and she grew jumpy. He supposed this was a good example of sexual tension at work.

"Now if there's anything at all, even the smallest thing that you need, don't be afraid to wake me," she was insisting as she bustled about the room, preparing for bed.

He listened to her stream of instructions and watched her setting her sheets on the floor for a few more minutes before politely cutting in. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean, what I am doing?" she asked stiffly, keeping her eyes away from him.

"You are not actually going to sleep on the floor, are you?" He eyed said floor distastefully.

"Well, of course," she gave a little laugh, "Where else am I going to sleep?"

That was a good question that practically demanded an awkward answer.

"Well—" he fought desperately against flushing, "The bed is plenty big enough—I wouldn't think of making even a House Elf sleep down there—" he pushed onwards at her doubtful expression, "And don't worry—it's not as if I'm in any shape to pursue any—impolite nocturnal activities—" He cut off there, feeling he had made his point.

But even his eventually more confident and sensible arguments couldn't sway her position, as white knuckled as she clung to it. So they spent the first night like that, and well before morning he became aware of another sensible reason against inhabiting the floor. The opening in the roof wasn't charmed to keep the cold out, and what turned out to be an unusually chilly night had him shivering, even in the bed. He spent most of the night trying to pass the bulk of the covers around to where they were needed most, wishing he was bold enough to get up and make her get off the floor.

She put on a brave show the next morning, but it was still painfully obvious she'd had an even worse night than him.

There was also something else. Perhaps it was from everything that had happened to them, but Draco felt like if he didn't get out exactly how he felt about her, he was going to miss his chance, and maybe this time for good.

So he seized the opportunity when she unexpectedly stopped mid-bustle and sat down next to him on the bed.

"Malfoy," she began uncertainly, frowning as she stared down at her hands, "I was thinking—wondering—what you thought of me."

"Thought of you?" he echoed as his heart began to beat hard and he scrambled to hide his surprise and collect his wits.

"Yes," Hermione seemed to gain confidence after sneaking a peek over at him, "I mean, after everything that has happened—what I did to Harry. What do you really, honestly think about me?"

"Honestly?" he cleared his throat and frowned, "Well—I—" he stuttered, trying to remind himself that English was his native language, "Honestly? I—think some of what you did was wrong, yes, but I—still like you."

He was breathlessly watching for her reaction, so it was kind of a shock when her expression cleared and she looked up at him almost relieved.

"Kind of how you like Harry?" she asked with a small smile.

"I—what?" he said, on the brink of being horrified. Some of the thoughts he'd been indulging at the back of his mind involving her and some of the more ridiculous and pleasing things she could say and then do were suddenly intruded upon rather rudely by the Boy Wonder. He couldn't lie—he probably did think about Potter too much, at least when they had been back in school, but there were some kinds of thoughts that he never wanted to even fathom Potter participating in. "No—no! I do not like Harry Potter!"

"Oh, come on," she was smiling warmly now, and he began to get the impression she was severely mistaking the operative definition here, "I've known you for long enough—you were the one that offered to be his friend the first year, after all."

"As a friend—maybe," he choked, willingly giving her that as the lesser of two evils, "But—I don't like him, not like that."

"Oh," she smiled again as she apparently understood his appalled response, before her face fell. "Oh." That was probably when she remembered that he'd just used that term, to which they finally seemed to have mutually attached the correct definition, to describe his feelings towards her.

While he couldn't claim to ever have had an abundance of experience with girls, since Pansy didn't count for a lot of things, he still knew that this was the time to come clean.

He gave a tight smile, and when he found he couldn't come up with anything at all to say, he laid his hand over hers. How was it possible that anyone could have such soft skin?

She gave a brittle kind of smile and nodded weakly, her eyes wide. She looked only a couple notches above speechless, though she tried. "But—but what about—"

Ginny. It was like she didn't even have to finish the sentence. Though Draco had trouble understanding what Ginny had to do with anything. He'd admitted to liking her, yes, but that was all. He was perfectly capable of liking more than one girl, after all.

"Or—" she stammered.

That sentence might have been intended for Pansy, but Draco shook his head slowly, to whatever she meant. He stared into her shocked eyes, not really sure what kind of look he should be giving her at the moment.

Sometimes it took her an inordinate amount of time for what should've been a simple thing. Surely his bold behavior at that one particular night's campfire had been something of a big hint.

"Oh," she nearly squeaked again, absently patting his hand over hers in what was probably supposed to be a friendly manner. The next several seconds were a blur, but by the end of them she had hastily retreated out of the room, almost looking more terrified than he'd ever seen her. And that was saying something, considering their previous week together.

Somehow that warranted a warm feeling of satisfaction. Instead of feeling furious, as past attempts had made him, he felt rather content. Maybe it hadn't come off in exactly the ideal manner, but it could've been worse. She was just extremely startled, and in an endearing sort of way.

-----------------------------------------------

The rest of the day passed quickly. When she reappeared some time later, there was some hesitation, but she seemed happier than he could remember seeing her in a long time. The distance she'd been keeping before was now barely observed, and it seemed to him like she was testing it, testing to see if he had been serious. He did everything he could to show that he had been.

In fact, he could remember very little about the rest of the day at all. It passed with a lot of laughing and non-consequential, warm conversation. He even largely forgot about how much he itched to get out of bed.

But as evening rolled around, the problem from the last night resurfaced. No matter how much he insisted though, he couldn't get her to change her mind, even after last night. If anything, she seemed even more nervous about the prospect, albeit now in a completely different way.

So he eventually gave up on her stubbornness and resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to convince her otherwise, though it seemed to be even colder than last night. The heating charms she placed on both sets of their respective covers didn't last long.

But after waking up to pitch-blackness, following a nightmare he couldn't remember, he lay still. Gradually, he convinced himself that he wasn't imagining things and that he could hear soft breathing at the other side of the bed. When he tentatively reached out and found a warm bundle facing away from him, he could only smirk at her nerve of sneaking in after he'd gone to sleep.

Finding it wickedly difficult to get back asleep, he spent a long time listening to her breathing before cautiously scooting over, until he was nearly touching her. It was still terribly chilly, even now with both pairs of covers.

He drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours until it grew lighter. As the sunlight slowly crept through the room, faintly illuminating what he had only been able to guess at in the darkness, he spent most of the time watching her.

After awhile, when she began to toss slightly as she neared waking, he swallowed down his fear. Leaning closer, he gently wrapped his arm around her.

When that didn't appear to wake her, though her breathing had gone quieter, he decided to risk it while he still had a chance. Much as he really didn't want to believe it, what were the chances of her actually warming up to him? Probably slim to nonexistent, if she had anything to say about it.

Gently, and hoping that his heart wasn't really as loud as it seemed to him, he pushed her tumble of hair away slightly and lowered his face to the softer, feathery curls that graced her neck. Breathing in deeply, he brushed his lips lightly against her skin.

He froze when he felt her stir.

She turned herself over beneath his arm, her face a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

He had to say something. "You've—you've got a beautiful taste." He said softly. When he realized just what he'd said, he felt like smacking himself in the forehead. "I mean—" he started.

"No," her fingers reached out to touch his lips as she smiled softly, "That's okay. I kind of liked it."

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The Stone of Sorrow, curious oddity of an obscure wizard remembered only by the most diligent, rested lightly at the hollow of her neck, its dimensions discernable for the first time since it had glimpsed its bearer's deepest sorrow.

But as the girl and the boy slowly woke to each other, each in their own way, the Stone drifted back into its own dreams, drowsy and sated from its labors.

Amidst the revelations that the morning brought, it went unnoticed for a long time.

**Epilogue Note: **Sorry, but this little loose thread completely slipped my mind until about two hours after posting the last chapter. This officially wraps up everything.

**AN: **Whew, finally finished. Thanks so much for everyone reading, and especially those who have left reviews. Have fun with the seventh book.


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